


Hiding in the Shadows

by chainsmokingnun, Death_Herself



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blackmail, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Breathplay, Collars, Complicated Relationships, Consent Issues, Death Out Bishes, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Eventual Smut, Every Pairing Is Minor We Are Here For SpideyPool, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Face-Fucking, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Hand Jobs, I'm Over Here Sipping This Drank, Information Technology, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Nun Went Crazy With The Tags, POV First Person, Possessive Behavior, Power Play, Rimming, Sadism, Sex Toys, Slow To Update, Stark Industries, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tony Stark Is Not Helping, We need jesus, Whipping, father please forgive me, i am a nun, pretty!Wade, someone please save peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8755330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chainsmokingnun/pseuds/chainsmokingnun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Death_Herself/pseuds/Death_Herself
Summary: Puny Peter Parker's lot in life is simple. He is the eternal punching bag of Stark Industries. He learns very early on to mask his emotions with a polite smile. Until Stark's top of the line security system is hacked by a terrorist group. In comes FBI Agent Wade Wilson, who can't keep his hands to himself. He knows more than he lets on about the millionaire playboy. Peter pays dearly for Wilson to keep his mouth shut.**Closed. See Chapter 8.**





	1. Puny Parker

Raucous laughter echoes throughout the entire floor from the meeting room. If I weren’t already in route to the room, I would avoid entering the hyenas den at all costs.

Why I need to be at this meeting is a mystery to me. I’m just the IT guy who could easily remote access the system they claim to need help with.

After pushing my glasses back up and rounding the corner, I immediately wish I’d just stayed in my office.

How these asshats, who didn’t even know the difference between a modem and a router, found my Youtube channel is beyond mortal comprehension. Standing beside them and letting out a small huff makes them all turn to me.

The laughter morphs into howls as they all hold onto each other in a repulsive display of ‘manly’ affection. My teeth could crack from how intensely I grit them while watching myself on the screen. How I manage the grin on my face through the pain in my heart and jaw, is beyond me. Thankfully, I’m not a cuckoo who posts weird rant videos.

No, they’re just how-to techy stuff. These Neanderthals just love to mock every single thing I do. I wish I could say it doesn’t hurt, that it’s fair game and all in good fun, but it isn’t.

The moment I started this job, I knew the high pay was going to be earned at a cost: my dignity. I should have known by my interview what I was getting into.

Who asks, _“What animal would you say most resembles yourself, and why?”_   That same obnoxious laughter had flooded my shocked system that day. Like it did almost everyday.

My Youtube video begins to tell the viewer where to buy the supplies needed for the project. I'm quick to join in the laughter erupting again. One of the cavemen gives a hard smack to the back of my head, “Peter, you fucking dweeb.”

Straightening my posture makes the button-up pull against my frame. I’m suddenly hyper aware of the constricting tie. The smile reappears on my face to assure the men it’s still funny. Everything is fine.

Everything is always fine.  
Taking my leave before the men can say anything else is hard to do, especially without bolting like an emotional brat.

“Come on…” I mutter under my breath as the elevator button stays lit. I watch the floor numbers crawl on screen. Unfortunately, this isn’t the only time something like this has happened. My whole life has been one big shit show of bad luck to worse luck.  
  
The odds never seem to be in my favor.

 So much so that in high school, if something went wrong, everyone would say, _“Peter and his Parker Luck are at it again.”_

Taking a corporate job was supposed to be my chance at being perceived as a man. Not the weakling everyone, including myself, seems to see. My arms cross nervously at the thought, I’ll just get down to the office and update the security again for Director Stark like he asked. _Then, I can go home. Only a few more hours._ Looking down at my watch to confirm my running thoughts, _Just four more hours and I’ll be-_

A sudden heaviness on my back, white hot pain searing through my face, and my hands pressing against something cold and metallic is both shocking and confusing. My vision is fine. No cracks or fuzziness, thankfully. But something hot rushes into my mouth. It tastes of copper. A red splotch of blood smears on the reflective door.

Focusing hard at my reflection in the door, I can see blood running down my face. The voice finally breaking through the haze left my stomach in knots. Heat flushes down my rigid body.

“Man, Parker. You probably should watch where you’re standing.” The sneering and snickers make me lower my head in embarrassment. _I hate Flash Thompson_.  
Extreme vertigo makes it hard to stand upright, but these men will not get the satisfaction of my crumbling. Never has that small dinging sound brought me such relief. Stepping into the elevator, pressing the main level button, and swiping my card for access. All fluidly achieved without breaking character.

The moment the door closes I have my hand to my face, cupping the blood already dripping onto my (thankfully) black shirt. Leaning my head back against the metal wall, I look to the panel where the security cameras are hidden and feel betrayed.

Everyone within the company had the same mentality. Internal affairs and issues of employees have a great view of the turned cheek of the directors, security officers, and investors.

Main level is the lobby and only access to a hidden corridor to the lower level elevators. No matter how hard I try to be invisible, the receptionist always sees me. Today is no different.

“How are things go- Oh, my god! Peter! What happened to your face?” The genuine concern on her beautiful features would have made my body act very differently if I weren’t in such pain.

“I just stumbled into the elevator door. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, Mary Jane.” I force a smile to my lips underneath the hand cupping my nose. She continues the terribly depressing, pitiful look on her face.

“I can get you some ice or something. Please! Let me help!” She starts pleading.

“I’ve got some ice packs in the office. Ya got anything to take the edge off?”

As much as I want to escape this whole situation to lick my wounds, I just can’t bring myself to offend my only ally. She takes my compromise, diving into her purse to fish out a bottle. The apparition of two blue pills and a sincere smile is almost too much for my emotional levies.

“…Thank you, Mary Jane.” Our gazes meet briefly after I rip my eyes from the tablets in my palm.

“Of course. All right, get out of here.” She leans in, pressing her hand beside her mouth to direct her whisper to me, “I’ve got stronger stuff if ya need it.” She winks.

“Th-thanks…” I offer a wave and cringe instantly. I can’t move quick enough to get my awkward ass away from her and the lobby. The access pad allows me entry to the dim corridor, making me praise whatever cruel god controls my luck. Finally! Something is going right!

Stale air within the corridor washes the embarrassment from my skin. It leaves behind trickles of dread as I follow the short path to the lower level elevators. I still don’t understand the need to have an access code outside and within the elevator. _What am I going to do? Suddenly become a restricted employee?_ Well, that may be possible actually, knowing the director.

My clothes feel like syrup in the warm stagnant air of the elevator. I need to get to the office.

Elevator doors are the antonym to curtains rising. The machinery pulls back and you expect no one to be there. I was happy that the script is finally being stuck to. Silence greets me after my departure from the lift.

With another swipe of my ID, relief floods me. The screens are black, patiently waiting my loving hands in the brightly lit room.

After touching the keyboard, they all come to life. With Linux, the prompt, and all the software, I have all I need to aid the company as a silent partner.

Thirty minutes pass before my nose stops bleeding. Upon looking in the mirror, I’m thankful. Despite my horrible luck, my nose isn’t broken. The mirror reflects my failed attempt to maintain umber, shaggy hair. _I really need to work out more. I’m not skin and bones but it sure looks it._

Turning to look around the empty office is eerie. Usually, I have three other people to keep me company during my shift.

One guy, Harry Osborn, was fired and hasn’t been replaced yet. He was good at his job. So good that he had been hacking the director’s personal computer for passwords, and slowly draining pennies from his account. Of course, Mr. Stark knew and allowed Harry to do this for some time, until the amount of money was enough to charge him with embezzlement. Currently, he’s serving a three year sentence.

The other two, Gwen and Sophia, were sent to Director Starks’ building in Boston for the week. The memo had called it a seminar for the IT department, but I wasn’t allowed to go. Unfortunately, someone had to stay here under the director’s orders. Gwen and Sophia were ecstatic about the trip; it meant they got to party and charge it all on the company. If you consider getting blindly drunk and having sex with random dudes in the hotel a party.

_No big deal though, I’m perfectly capable of running this ghost ship._

A small snicker passes between me and the monitor. The music starts echoing throughout the large, cold room.

 _Little sister, can't you find another way?_  
_No more living life behind a shadow_

The clacking of the keyboard blends perfectly with the underlying cow bell and rhythmic drums of the song. Despite the unsettling emptiness around me, this is nice. Music has always brought me happiness and helps me cope with stress.

Director Stark was very adamant about me finishing the project. He was upping security on all fronts, including his digital presence. The way he worded it was terrifying. Like literal and viral Trojans were about to storm his compound and he was going to use all 130 pounds of my body to protect himself.  
A shiver courses through me at the high probability of that happening. In order to forcefully shove those thoughts out of my head, I start to harmonize with Josh Homme’s raw voice:

  
_Little sister, can't you find another way?_  
_No more living life behind a shadow._  
_You whisper secrets in my ear._  
_Slowly-_

Josh Homme continues the song. I’m left staring at the computer screens, blacked out and unresponsive. The loud wiring in the air-controlled server room wants my attention just as badly as the now crackling, glitching monitors in front of me. My heart wants out of my chest as much as I want out of this room.

_No, no, no, no, no, god no, no, no, NO, NO! NO! NO!_

The chair makes an awful crashing sound as it’s forced backward harshly. Before my hand can even touch the handle to the server room, the sirens scream their warnings for me and send the breech alarm up to everyone in the building.

The whole office is filled with warning alarms. The handle won’t budge and the ID scanner won’t access during a breech. There is absolutely nothing for me to do while everything is locked up and I want the hell out of dodge.

“Shit! No!”

Running back to the large desk with the monitors was easy enough, but grabbing up my belongings was a whole other case. My panic had knocked everything off the desk and my bag over, which wouldn’t cooperate with me while I was shoving things in it. “Fuck it!”

I take only my phone and run to the door that lets out into the hallway. Or at least it should. Instead, it behaves like the server room door.  
Locked.

“Wh-Why is it locked?! What if there was a fire?! STARK! OPEN THE DOOR!”

Rage and panic are a mighty beast when working together. A normal door would have been rattling violently with the force of my hands, but not a ‘ _Stark Industries_ ’ door.

My lungs are screaming at me for air while the anxiety makes me hyperventilate. Sliding down the door, I slump into sobs of panic. It’s my only option in this messed up situation. Thankfully, the loudest breech sirens have quieted, allowing me to calm some.

I sniffle into my arms, cover my face, and feel the blood pour from my nose again from all the stress and crying. There’s no way anyone in the tower would come looking for me right away. Even if they did, it wouldn’t be a pleasant rescue. I’m about to have my ass handed to me for something out of my control.

"So much for going home tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Hope you all enjoyed the very first post of this insanity. 
> 
> My sweet little nun will be posting next. So, say a little prayer cause she will blow you away. 
> 
> -Death_Herself


	2. Welcome Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, precious sinners! we have returned with another chapter~ 
> 
> im reeling with all the positive feedback and love this fic has gotten! lordy may, you guys are amazing! *heart* we love you! 
> 
> i hope you enjoy this latest installment of this hella gay adventure! XD
> 
> -chainsmokingnun

Shiklah doesn’t look at me when she leaves. Her eyes are rooted to her shoes. A lovely stack of divorce papers sit on my kitchen counter. 

“It’ll be easier if you just sign them, I don’t know what the problem is.” She looks over her shoulder at me. 

“Maybe I loved you.” 

She snorts, “Yes, Wade, you loved me so much that you never touched me.” She turns to face me fully, “Can you really blame me for seeking someone else? You made me feel undesirable.” 

The tension in the air was nearly tangible. There is so much I want to say. I want to explain that I couldn’t be physical with her, with anyone. Underneath my skin, a monster slept. 

Instead all that comes out is, “I have to go to work.” 

Her dark brows furrow, “Alright, I’ll leave you to it.” She whips her head back taking a stream of long black hair with it. She’s beautiful. Creamy brown skin, gorgeous legs, thick hair. Any normal man’s wet dream. 

Something in her eyes, though. A fierce independence. A surge of self preservation. We would never work. She leaves behind the smell of Shea butter and bitterness. I get dressed as though my marriage of five years hadn't just crashed and burned. 

My work puts me a place of power that most people don’t experience. I must admit, it’s a sort of high. I wonder if my issue has anything to do with it. 

I’m damn good at what I do, when I choose to do it. Paperwork makes me chaff and following orders makes my skin crawl. I work usually in domestic terrorism, which sometimes crosses over into cyber-crime, which is the worst department ever. 

You ever want to see a bunch of old men pretend to be Snowden? Step into the cyber-crime department. It’s like watching paint dry. So exciting. 

However, Logan, dreamboat that he is, works in that hellhole. We’re the dream team. The Mystery Gang. Thelma and Louise. Any case that’s plopped on our laps, we solve it. Speaking of, tall, dark, and brooding is standing outside. 

“Oh Logan,” I coo, “You waited for lil ol’ me? Are you gonna carry my books and walk me to class?” 

He grunts and hands me a paper cup of terrible coffee. I drink it, though it tastes like he used Windex as creamer. 

“Charles wants to see you in his office.”

I groan, “How did I fuck up this time?” 

Logan shrugs, “He wouldn’t say…” 

I sigh and swallow the rest of the godawful bile, “God, today’s shaping up to be just peachy.” 

Logan doesn’t reply. All of our fellow coworkers glance at us as we head to Charles’ office. Some dare a wave in our direction, others dart their heads and pretend to be super fascinated with the tiling on the floor or a speck of dust on their monitors. 

It’s safe to say I’m not well liked around here. There’s a reason for it. I’m careless, rude, kind of a dick to people. I have no respect for protocol. The only reason I have for not being fired is Charles. 

Charles Xavier isn't human, I’m sure of it. He has to be some sort of benevolent spirit. Maybe an angel who lost his wings and had to fix the filthy sinners of Earth as punishment. 

He’s way too nice. 

He sits behind his desk, dripping with authority. There are pictures of his husband, their family all over his desk. All happy and smiling. ‘Happy Birthday Daddy!’ written in crayola markers on a card propped up next to a family barbecue. Little stick figures, innumerable, all holding hands. From Hank and Angel and Rogue and Anya...

I wanted a family like that, when me and Shiklah had first gotten married. I thought it would fix me. But every time we tried, every time Shiklah got on top of me…

“I’m sorry to say that we are having some trouble with Stark Industries…” 

"Again?" Xavier nodded, leaning back into his chair.

"Yes, Howlett, again," He rests his elbows on the table, “Their security system was hacked yesterday."

I snort, "One hundred times out of ninety nine, these cases lead nowhere. He was probably overreacting and called you.” 

Logan glares at me. Xavier pointedly ignores me, "We traced the attack to the Ten Rings. The same group Stark Industries was selling to in the 2000s."

We both lean in, "I thought he stopped that once Stane kicked the bucket?"

"He was probably communicating with them this entire time, right under our noses..." Xavier sucks in a hiss of air. He has way too much faith in humanity, puts way too much weight on the supposed natural good of man.

But the truth is, it's a dog eat dog world. You have to crush people to get anywhere. Unpleasant, sure, but I’m being honest.

It's no surprise to me that Stark has a body count beside his ever rising stock. He'd throw a baby under a bus if he thought it would save his skin.

Or make him money.

But for Charles Xavier, justice is black and white. There just isn't room for amoral grey. There is no room for Tony Stark, who he once tentatively called 'friend'. A man given a second chance, but takes bizarre pleasure in squandering it. Someone who gave charity to Middle Eastern orphans, then sold weapons to their war lords to kill them. 

It didn’t add up. Tony had every opportunity to do good, he still choose to be toxic.

"Stark wasn't holding up his end of the bargain," Logan says, "They got pissed and ransacked him for all he's worth, the greedy bastard."

"But what exactly did they expect him to do?"

The question is ominous. It hangs in the air like cigarette smoke. Gray and curling in on itself. Questionable when ingested.

Xavier swallows thickly and produces three folders, "The attack started in the IT department and spread to all neighboring devices. Any Stark tech hooked up to his mainframe was corrupted."

Each folder has a nicely labeled tag: Gwen Stacey, Sophia Sanduvel, Peter Parker. All employees in IT. All are suspects.

Logan eyes over them, "So, they're fucked till this gets fixed?"

"Relatively speaking." He nods to the last folder, "Mr. Parker has them running on a private server so manufacturing can continue, but they aren't working nearly as efficiently as before."

"No telling how much customer data was stolen. They'll be mopping that up for years..." I trail off. Peter Parker stares back at me, paper clipped in with a thick stack of documents.

He's pretty. Soft brown hair mussed and uncontrollable, big brown doe eyes, classic nerd glasses. He's smiling shyly at the camera. He's one of those people you know got shoved into lockers in high school. Even through the picture, I know he isn't a threat. Weak. Vulnerable. He radiates it in waves.

"He was locked in his office for 3 hours before they found him," Xavier catches my gaze, "Right where the mainframe is."

"Does he have something to do with this, Charles?"

"We'll keep a close eye on him."

Of course, Xavier skirts around the issue. He never wants to give a solid answer. The first thing they tell you when you get inducted into the academy: Everyone is innocent till proven guilty. It's a shame some people take it so literally.

We have as much info on Stark as humanly possible. All that was left was to get the answer we were looking for, and observe. We’re out the door and in Logan’s car, back to the daily grind. 

“Charles seemed really choked up about this,” I adjust the rearview mirror, and may or may not check myself out. Nicely kept blond hair, brown eyes, strong jawline. I don’t look like a man dishonored. I don’t look nearly as bad as I should. I refocus my attention back to Logan. 

He cut his brown eyes to me, “Charles cares about the people he has to investigate. I know empathy is lost on you, but you can’t tell me you don’t feel a little disappointed in him?”

“It’s not my place to,” I push some blond hair out of my eyes, “We aren’t supposed to care about criminals. We’re supposed to stop them.” 

“Charles treats people like they’re people,” the car starts and cuts through the parking lot, “That’s what you don’t understand.” 

People dart in and out of Stark Industries like bees from a hive. Women in sheer pantyhose and heels like horse shoes on the pavement. Men in ties and power suits, carrying coffee and documents, thinking they were important. They all start to blend together, one being an exact clone of the other.

If this was them being inefficient, I don't want to see them being productive.

“Welcome to corporate America, Wolvie.”

Logan grunts, “Can’t wait to spend the next few months dealing with this shit…”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” I shrug, “Maybe we’ll get to blow something up.”

“Or shoot something…” ‘Preferably Stark, in the face, because fuck that guy.’

“So violent,” I coo. Logan grunts again, charging in front of me.

“Let's get this over with.”

No one notices when we enter the lobby. We’re dressed up like them. Loafers, blue jackets, Windsor tie. We enter the mob. Behind the desk is a pretty redhead. Her nails are immaculately manicured where they rest on the keyboard. Her little badge reads: Mary Jane Watson.

Her lips peel back into a smile. A smear of red lipstick stains her front teeth. “Can I help you?”

“We’re here to see Tony Stark.”

“He doesn't have any appointments scheduled for today," She looks back sat us, puzzled, "But I can leave a message..."

Green eyes narrow in confusion. I smile and flash my badge.

"That won't be necessary," Logan says. A coy smile plays on his lips.

She backs away from us. It's a reaction we've come to expect. Being avoided like feral dogs.

It gets the job done, anyway. She quickly presses a button, "Mr. Stark, you have guests. Yes, believe me, it's urgent."

She's white as a sheet, her lipstick a bloody smear against snow, "Is this about the breech?" She grabs my wrist.

"We aren't at liberty to discuss that, miss." Logan answers for me.

"Is Peter in trouble?" She looks close to tears now. A child tugging on teacher's pant leg, full of sympathy for another in the time out corner.

I jerk my arm away and she winces, “Thank you for your help, Ms. Watson.”

She wants to say something but her mouth shuts before the words can escape. I’m glad for it. Her voice was starting to grate on my nerves. Stark hadn’t been anticipating agents. I suppose he thought he’d tell us to fuck off as soon as we touched the door handle. Logan’s about to knock when he hear Stark screaming.

“I don’t understand! How you could let this happen?!”

A tiny, wounded voice, “I was trying, Director Stark. It all just happened so fast, I-”

“You were supposed to update the security system!” I can practically see him pacing, running his fingers through his hair, “Do you want to ruin me, Peter?!”

“No, Director Stark!” Peter’s barely holding himself together. He’s wound up so tightly, he might break if he exhales. “I was trying, but they’d already bypassed-”

Logan has had enough. He opens the door. Peter looks at us. 

It's one thing to see it in a photograph, it's another to see vulnerability in the flesh. He’s beautiful, it's the only word I can think to describe him. 

His pupils are dilated. Hazel, from what little iris I can see. His glasses are crooked. His milky, pale skin is tinged red from embarrassment. 

I could sink my teeth into that skin. I could mark him. Taste his blood, feel him keen under me. 

He’s hunched into a little ball, as though he’s trying to make himself smaller than Stark. As though he were an innocent, insignificant creature trying to escape observation. Staring at Peter’s pathetic display makes something in my stomach coil.

Some people just beg to be broken. They crave the feeling of being under someone else's thumb. I wonder if he is one of those people. Peter looks at me, his face a portrait of fear. 

And I want. 

A word I’ve long buried cuts through my hindbrain. It screams, echoes into my brain matter, bounces off the walls of my skull.

Submissive.

Logan is embarrassed for him. I see it in the pitying look he tosses Peter’s way. I hear it in the sigh that loosens the knots in his shoulders.

“Mr. Stark,” He looks at Tony, who looks like he might barf. He turns to Peter, smiles in a way that tried to be reassuring. Peter flinches at it instead. “Mr. Parker, I assume?”

He nods slow, almost like he’s unsure.

If I called you anything different, would you respond? If I took you, broke you, and reshaped you into something new, would you complain?

We ask questions, read faces, take apart the answers we’re given. But my mouth is on autopilot and I can’t stop looking at Peter.

Despite his episode earlier, he is politely neutral. His face is an impassive mask. There’s a wall between how he really feels and what he displays. That’s alright, baby. Two can play at that game. 

Logan looks at me, a warning glance. I know I’ll get a lecture later, but this pathetic boy has brought out a beast that refuses to be confined. 

What would it take to crush him?


	3. Isn't That Just Breechy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, Eh. See that horrific pun in the chapter title?  
> No need to thank me. I'm full of them.
> 
> Alright. Here we are folks. A new chapter in Peter's POV.  
> Thank you so much for reading, for all the comments, and all the love!  
> You all rock!
> 
> -Death_Herself

Three hours locked in a screeching torture chamber of electronic death is enough time to make a man question reality. I’ve been locked in worse for much longer and in those times I let the world around me fade away.

This time is no different.

 _I haven’t seen their faces in so long that they are just silhouettes now._  
_Mom and dad are always ready to take me to NYSCI even after all these years. Their outstretched hands are waiting for me to tie my shoes._  
  
_Every time we go, I can hear my parent’s soft voices explaining the mechanics of a project or how you could take it one step further. Even at eight years old, I was proud to have such interesting parents. They could explain everything around us down to the very molecular level._  
  
_Like always, I grab both of their hands and pull them through the clusters of bodies to the very thing I find most interesting._  
  
_Robots. Not androids. No, just a simple machine I can build myself and control. A part of my brain externally visible for the world to see. I look up into their silhouetted faces, and though I cannot see it anymore, I know they are smiling._

All the alarms shut off in unison. The silence pulls me from my day that truly is a dream. The day I never got to have with my parents. Truthfully, that was the day I lost control of my entire life.  
I push the feelings of abandonment back down into the black box. No therapist has ever been able to recover them or improve on them, anyway. I look towards the familiar sound of the air controlled room, humming. This means the systems were still turned on, but not online.

New sounds send a severe jolt through my body. Several loud clacks and quiet clicks of locks have me backing away from the door I’m pressed against.  
  
Relief floods me. But my calm is swiftly crushed by sudden fear. Director Tony Stark stalks through the doorway, pointing the barrel of a .45 in my direction.  
  
“Is your job really that hard, Parker?” His furrowing brows accent the fiery eyes glaring at me. His Gay Satan goatee begins twitching from his grimace.  
  
“S-Sir. I-I…” Cowardice. If I could describe myself in one word, it would be just that. Especially as I hold my hands up in an attempt to soothe the deranged orbs of fire on my face. The uncomfortable feeling of my glasses slipping off my sweating nose isn’t enough to pull me out of this fear.  
  
“You’re going to fix this.” That same tone tied neatly around his voice forces snakes down my throat. I can feel them squirming inside my empty stomach.  
  
“Yessir…” The snakes began to bite my delicate organ, ripping holes, and pouring their venom and my stomach acid onto my other organs.  
  
“I’ll send Steve to check on you later.” A smirk plays on Gay Satan’s lips. My eyes widen in confusion.

“I-I’m staying here? Sir, I-“

“No need to thank me. I know you’ll fix it.” My mouth could touch the floor. Shock courses through my body as my eyes meet his turned back. The anxiety of being locked away again makes my feet wobbly as I chase after him.

“I can’t stay down here again. Please, don’t-“

His finger digs deep in my sternum, his furious face inches away from my own. I can see my pathetic, horror stricken features in his deep dark eyes.

“You will do just that, Parker. I do not want to see your piss stained body until we are up and running again,” His breath becomes hot on my face as he draws close, hissing while grabbing a fistful of my shirt, “Got it?”

My nod is enough to satisfy his anger. He gives a violent shove to force me away from him. All I can do is watch as his rigid body is swallowed by the elevator.

I know if I swipe my ID, I would be one of those restricted employees. I feel panic’s white knuckled grip around my throat, consuming me again.

It takes six hours for Steve Rogers to pay me a visit. The shame on his handsome face is a mirror of my own. His eyes are a faint whisper of an apology. He hands out a bag of towels and an apple.

Words build up behind my lips, desperate to escape and reach out to one of the few coworkers who has ever shown a smidgen of respect to me, but the warning behind his eyes silences me.

He can't help me.

Steve’s loyalty is forever to Mr. Stark. I’m pretty sure they are fuck buddies or something. Which first, gross. Second, why? This man is one of high morals and his handsome features are what can be considered classical in their beauty. His blonde hair is under tight control, face is clean shaven, piercing blue eyes, and a well-built body. How he can give himself entirely to the pure evil that is Tony Stark will forever be mystery to me.

As much as I appreciate his beauty, he’s not my type. Actually, I’m not even sure what my type is.

 I snatch the bag and quickly avert my eyes as he leaves. His exit leaves me alone yet again.

_I can’t work like this. I haven’t slept in several days due to stress and now being locked up down here._

Seventeen hours after the breech, I manage to have everyone running on a secure server, one that requires a cryptosystem deeper than I have ever done before, of my own design.

Mr. Stark’s on top of my process via security footage and remote access in his top floor luxury office. The weight of my confinement crawls off my shoulders. _Thank God, the tests cleared!  
_

An additional two hours pass before the director finally IMs me with an okay to leave.

**_Asshole_ **

My body screams for sleep. I stand up from the desk to stretch. I give a quick glance around the room. In two piles sit my dirty dress clothes and the towels I used to clean all the blood from my face and neck. I’m so glad I stashed some jeans and a shirt in my bag.

Facing Mr. Stark in casual wear is as much of a ‘fuck you’ I can ever give the man. I sigh at how pathetic that is. Locking me down here is not only cruel, it’s illegal. It sounds easy enough to speak up about mistreatment, until it’s against the likes of Tony Stark.

I’m not boneless, and I’m most definitely not stupid. I just know a useless fight when I see it. Which in truth, nearly all fights are useless.

Putting my negative thoughts aside, I leave my cage to face the elevators.

The access pad accepts my ID. A sigh leaves my trembling lips. My eyes meet the security camera lens immediately. I press my glasses back into place nervously.

_I’m going to barf. Maybe faint. I can’t face him again._

I turn my back to the cameras before stumbling into the square space. Immediately, I swipe my card again and press the only up button. The lift is slow, my sleep deprived brain making the ride up more eventful than it should be.

I finally understand the purpose of those horrible railings inside elevators. They stop uncaged animals, lacking sleep, from falling on their faces.

The stale hallway air outside of the elevator floods bile into my mouth. I need out, I need air, I need to avoid seeing those furious dark eyes on my shaking body.

Morning light beautifully illuminates the immaculate lobby of Stark Industries on this average morning. The bile nearly reaches my mouth again. The brightness of real light hurts my eyes.  
“Peter! I didn’t know you were here already?” Mary Jane’s ever chipper voice pierces my horribly clouded mind like a thousand sewing needles glued to a paddle board.

“Y-Yeah. I had to fix some things.” I manage to sound collected, despite having just spent nineteen hours locked in my office.

“OH! I’m sure.” I catch a faint smile on her sensual red lips. Her always perfectly manicured fingers give a small touch to those red lips briefly as if in thought.  
I avert my eyes to the lobby where everyone is doing their normal morning routines like the good robots they are.  
“I’ll see you later Mary Jane. I have to meet with Director Stark.” I wave, much like the one just a day ago. I curse myself for being the same no matter the day, as I make it to the elevator in time to be the last one to enter.

As the metal doors begin to close on the lobby, I see a blacked out SUV pull into one of the front parking spots. Weird. Those were usually reserved for investors.

The two men I catch a glimpse of, before the doors revealed my reflection, didn’t look like investors. They’re familiar in an odd way. Not their blurred faces, but their uniform, their stance.

I can’t place what they look like, even through the entire ride up, even as I make the walk down death row.

The tall wood doors to Tony Stark’s office are as ominous as one expects when it comes to this terrifying vermin of a man. The same man who, the moment I walk in the door, is going to properly execute me.

I thank God that Ms. Potts isn’t paying any mind to me. Too busy transferring an intercom call to her boss.

She knows why I’m here. She doesn’t pity me one bit. Not even sparing a glance, she buzzes me in.

The doors open and close fluidly, leaving me to stand awkwardly in the large room. Meanwhile, the purest of evil stands by his large window, looking out onto the city like he owns it.

Well, that’s not far from true.

The silence between us is his way of scaring me further. It’s working

“Do you know how bad this is?” He begins with an all too familiar tone. The one your dad gives you before he starts yelling and throwing things at you.

I open my mouth to speak, but he looks like he’s about to pounce. My jaw closes with an audible ‘click.’

Like any good predator, he slowly encircles me. He takes his time walking away from the window to fume his way to his desk.  
  
“You were given the simplest of tasks for someone with your intelligence. I hired you for that alone. This…” He brings his hands down on the desk loudly, “This fuck up is not acceptable.”

I watch as the vessels of his forehead twitch. I do everything I can to escape this confrontation. But my body and mind are so weak from lack of sleep, I may faint right here. 

My eyes are searching for that gun again before I can stop them. I almost want him to shoot me.

His voice rises with every word, “This is perhaps the worst thing any employee has ever done. And here’s the thing. I don’t understand! How could you let this happen?!”

I can feel my body collapsing in on itself at the screeching. He wants a real response. My voice comes out smaller than I expect, “I was trying, Director Stark. It all just happened so fast, I-“

“You were supposed to update the security system!” He isn’t very prepared for this confrontation which makes it even more frightening. His hands are either on his hips or in his fancy haircut.

My walls are holding all the shock they were built for. My body is reacting, despite my best efforts to contain the maelstrom of emotions.

“Do you want to ruin me, Peter?!” The accusation prickles my skin. Heat courses through my body, staining my skin pink with anger and embarrassment. I have to keep it together. He has my dignity in his hands, and I am desperate to get it back.

“No, Director Stark! I was trying, but they’d already bypassed-“

The door opening pulls Mr. Stark away from the confrontation, and I can feel the heat radiating to my face even further.

Someone had been listening to him degrading me, listening to me feebly attempt to gain control over my wrecked body.

I follow my boss’ gaze to the door.

It’s those two men. The realization of what they look like, of who they are, crashes over me.

I look from Mr. Stark, who is as scared as I am, to the man in the front, and the other behind him.

The first to enter glares at Tony, like I wish I freely could. He’s attractive in a rugged way, older and reeking of authority. My eyes catch on his holstered weapon and the tightness of his dress pants. His voice is deep as he grunts out, “Mr. Stark,”

I can feel his eyes on my disgustingly expressive face as he says my name, “Mr. Parker, I assume?”  
  
In that moment, I come to realize exactly what this is. My panic attempts to choke me out again. It claws up my throat with it’s jagged talons and threatens to burst through my mouth.

I barely nod to the man speaking to me with a smile on his face. I’ve never met federal agents. Honestly, I never thought I would.

My eyes fall on the second agent. He is equally as rugged, and aged as the other, but far more attractive. He oozes danger, a bleak sort of authority. Powerful.

That's the word. He’s powerful.

I notice immediately that he hasn’t taken his eyes off of me.

The first agent, who identified himself as Agent Howlett, asks us all to sit down. I oblige, even as Mr. Stark glares lasers at me. His sadistic eyes burn holes in my chest as I sit, warning me not to say a damn word to these agents.

I let out a soft sigh. He let his attention be taken by Howlett asking questions, away from me. Those dangerous, unknown eyes were on me again though. Agent Howlett identified their owner as Agent Wilson.

When Wilson finally began to ask questions, I could feel his voice so close to my body. His words sunk into my skin, making my heart race.

_“We’ll need access to all computers involved in the breach.”_

His voice is expressive even as he keeps it under tight control. There’s something about the way he speaks that makes my skin crawl. It’s like he wants me to look at him, like he’s asking me to.

No. Not asking. Telling.

When I do meet his light brown eyes, I quickly look away again. The emotion within them is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The word, hunger, is a whisper in the air.

To be looked at in such a way disconnects my body from my brain. The two act as separate vessels. One maintaining composure, playing my part with practiced ease. The other running wild, trying to analyze something it couldn’t. There isn’t enough data.

My brain rapidly tries to define the word hunger. How does it fit this situation?

My skin breaks out into goose flesh. My hands clench my knees, perhaps a bit too hard. My masks slips for an instant as a definition comes to mind for hunger. It’s far more disturbing than I would like to dwell on.

_Food e.g. Animal._

That’s the feeling coursing through me. A deer in the sights of a Remmington rifle, a rabbit caught in a trap. I’m an animal in fear of a hunter. This man may be exuding power, but there is more to this predatory gaze on my seemingly calm body.

The introduction and questions the men had for us were brief. They were here today to inform Tony Stark of their pending investigation. They'd be back tomorrow.

I am their first lead.

Tony gives only a dismissive hand wave. He stands up to guide the agents out, with what little power he had left over them. I sit quietly in my chair, feeling eyes fade off of me.

Director Stark is in front of me once more, after having led the men out.

“If you give them any information outside of these folders, I will have no problem letting the hack fall on your shoulders.”

He sits four folders out in front of me. I give a quick nod and stand.

“Fuck off, Parker. I’m sick of looking at you.”

My leave is quick as demanded. I snatch up the folders and dart past Ms. Potts, before she can even bother noticing. The elevator is still in the process of going down, so I bypass them for the stairs.

Once down several floors, I sit on one of the landings and let the pent up emotions boil over.

_I just want to go home. I want this to be over. I want Tony Stark to die._

My sobs take several minutes to subside, before I can head the rest of the stairs. With each step, a brick replaces another that had crumbled from holding back a tidal wave.

I’ve always been jealous of men who had tighter control of their emotions.

Nicknames like puny and pussy do not sit well with one’s dignity. I stand still on the landing to the lobby door. I left my dignity with Mr. Stark upstairs, those agents had seen me without it.

Speaking to no one, barely even myself, “I don’t want things to be this way…”

A quick peek into the lobby reveals what I suspect. The lobby has been a high traffic area all day. High enough, currently, to allow me to escape without Mary Jane or anyone else noticing. All I have to do is walk out. I inhale deeply, staring at the little sign: Exit.

The manila folders find a safe place against my chest in a hug as I leave the stairwell.

Warm rays of sunlight kiss my cheeks. I’m out the door and into the safety of New York’s mercy. I can hear my sweet bed calling for me like a lost child several blocks away.

Over my shoulder, I look back to the doors to hell I’ve managed to escape.

_My hell will be here tomorrow. Today, I need sleep._

~

“Hey Peter!” Mary Jane is, as usual, happy to see me as I walk into the lobby this morning. I almost feel back to normal.

Today, I choose to walk up to the side of her desk closest to the restricted entrance to the lower level.

“Have a good morning, Mary Jane. I’ll see you at lunch.” My best smile curls my lips before I turn away.

Oh yeah! Parker: 1 Crippling Social Anxiety: 0

Mary Jane’s face contorts like she's smelled something rotten.

“If those agent don’t keep you down there during lunch,” Her tone is cool but not as cold as my body feels.

As the realization of having to face those agents again washes over me, my joy at finally navigating a normal conversation is squashed.

“Shit.” I whisper aloud. I turn to face her again.

_Normal conversation. Remember that one, we were having just a moment ago? Maybe I can make a repeat performance._

“I guess I should wait for them then.” I sigh before quickly asking, “So, when do Sophia and Gwen get back?”

“They should be back tomorrow,” She looks annoyed, so I don’t push the question.

She continues, envy and disgust in her voice, “Did you see Sophia’s Instagram updates from their trip?”

“I don’t use Instagram…” I trail off awkwardly.

“There are YouTube videos too. I know you have that.” She sounds mocking.

“Well, yeah. But... I use YouTube like King of Random. I’m not interested in videos of drunken girls.”

She opens her mouth to say something but stops short. Her face is white and her features become hard. I stare at her in confusion, until I feel those eyes on my body again.

Cold features mirror Mary Jane’s. I recognize Howlett’s growl of a voice speak first. “Mr. Parker, you're here, good.”

I turn my head to face the agents. I finally meet those piercing whisky colored eyes, holding the same look they had yesterday.

My attention seeks out the other agent quickly. His eyes are hard and just as brown, but not comparable to Agent Wilson’s.

“Let’s get started then.” Agent Wilson speaks this time. My body visibly jerks.

His face is unreadable, terrifying. I don't know what his motives are. There’s something undulating under the surface, something he doesn't want anyone to see. I don't think it all has to do with the investigation.

I nod as the heat rushes to my cheeks. I shake the thought out of my head. I can tell when I'm being jerked around. These agents have to be playing some game to get me to crack.

Nervousness controls my hand. I push my glasses up. I clutch my shoulder briefcase, containing the “Cheat Sheet for Director Stark’s Get Out of Jail Free Card.”

Avoiding Mary Jane’s appalled gaze, I guide this horror show to the restricted access door. I swipe my badge and hold my breath in a desperate bid to hide the fear in my body.

Footsteps stalk towards me, echoing in my ear as the access pad allows us entrance.

Clutching the strap to the briefcase again as we step in the hallway, I realize why I’m using it instead of my back pack. My backpack is still in the office, along with everything else I was locked in there with.

My daily mantra starts earlier today than most,  _I hate Tony Stark. I hate Tony Stark. I hate Tony Stark. I really hate Tony Stark._


	4. Down Came The Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And washed the spider out~ 
> 
> hello everyone! yes, this took forever. BUT YOU CANNOT RUSH PERFECTION! (you guys can all thank Death Herself for this chapter, because without her it probably wouldn't exist. x-x she is the best. Go stalk her. Not like literally though, cause there are laws against that...) 
> 
> i hope you all enjoy this fresh sin~ 
> 
> -chainsmokingnun

The house is empty. I mourn the loss of sound, the presence of someone besides myself. At least it had been a distraction. At least when we were screaming at each other, the quiet in between wasn’t so eerie. The house seems too big now, yet constricting all at once. I miss Shiklah, for a brief moment.

She made noise. Even if sometimes her voice was broken glass across my brain matter, it was something to latch onto. Now, it’s just the sound of my blood in my ears. A sullen voice creeps in behind my skull.

_Can’t keep anyone can you?_

I let my thoughts linger on the car ride back to the office. Logan’s eyes burning holes in my cheek, “Why were you starting at the kid like he was a piece of meat?”

I couldn’t help it. That thing buried deep within me had stood up in attention. Only when we were gone, away from Tony Stark and that beautiful, broken creature, did I feel even an inkling of embarrassment toward my predatory actions.

It’s as though my days lately have been without sound, and Peter had given me my hearing back. Only much more acute than before.

Of course, I have to answer Logan. But my dark truth isn’t an option. “I don’t trust him.” I say. Peter wasn't the only one who could mask his emotions. My poker face is so good, even he can't read it.

“Why not?”

“Something’s just off about him. He was acting weird.” Like how his skin had molted into goosebumps, or the way his fingers twitched around his knees. Cowering like he’d been whipped. All at my hands. I shift in the leather seat to both ease my thoughts and confirm my story. Logan grunted, kept driving.

Heats pools in my stomach and the familiar sensation runs downward. I stare down at the open file on the coffee table. That shy, watery smile looking at me again. My hand moves to unzip my fly, Peter’s eyes burned into my eyelids

_Aren’t you pathetic? Meet him once and you fall apart._

It happens from time to time. I get too into an interrogation, get into a headspace I can’t easily escape, and take it too far. Control over weak prey getting me worked into a lust driven frenzy.

But never before have I gotten aroused from possibility alone. Peter’s face alive with fear. Huge brown Bambi eyes glistening with unshed tears. Apparently, that’s enough to make my imagination fills in the gaps.

My mind undresses him. I’d only seen his arms. Skinny, sure, but well defined. It only follows the rest of him would look like that. A swimmer’s body, or a gymnast’s. Lithe and willowy.

His wrists are pinned together, tied with thick black rope. His ankles are shackled together in the same way. Down on his knees, he isn’t allowed to move unless I let him. His chest rises and falls. Those hazel eyes, big as the moon, look up at me, waiting.

What does his cock look like? He’s smaller than me in every other way, so why not here? It’s plastered to his stomach. Leaking precum. He’s needy, poor dear.

But he has to earn his keep.

In my safe subconscious, I can run my fingers through his hair. I can bunch it in my fist, I can pull.

I jerk his head back and he hisses through his teeth. His drool soaked chin glistens. He shudders. His cock twitches and another steady dribble of precome runs down his shaft.

“Please,” He groans.

“Please, what?” I drag the toe of my shoe from base to tip, reinforcing the fear into his desperate body.

He pants, needy and sweet. His breathing and moans are soft like a harp.

“Oh God,” he cries, his body jerks, his eyes screw shut, “Oh fuck…”

All the air in my lungs threatens to deplete when I look at him. All gorgeous flushed skin, shiny with sweat, bruised from rope. On his knees, this is where he belongs.

I jerk his head to the left. “You didn't answer me, baby boy.”

I’m not sure where the name comes from, but it falls from my mouth easily. It fits. His boyish features, smooth skin, childish impatience. He squirms even harder, straining against my shoe.

“More,” He swallows thickly, licks his lips, “I need more.”

I tilt my head in thought, “Do you want to come?” I run my foot back down slowly.

“Yes!” A strangled cry.

“You’ll have to earn it.”

A few stray tears roll down his cheeks, “Anything.” His voice trembles.

My body is on fire. My cock throbs. His coral lips are parted and shimmering.

A surge of adrenaline runs through me. I can do what I want to him. He belongs to me. I can hurt him just because I can.

“Open your mouth.”

He does as told. I bury myself in his throat. He gags and sputters. His throat is tight and hot.

I want to wreck him, make sure he can't speak. He tries to adjust. Spit dribbles out of the sides of his mouth, tears fall unchecked. I grab the back of his head and thrust into his mouth.

His bound arms twitch. He wants to grab me, but he can't. He whines, sobs around me.

Faster and faster, I slam my hips into him. Over and over, I feel him choke. I control his breathing.

I control him.

 

I spill over my own hand. There is no sound, just my panting.

It occurs to me, like the melting calmness in my bones, that I have to see Parker tomorrow.

“God fucking damn it.”

It never entered my thoughts to stay away from him. Not once, in the short time Peter Parker has entered my life, did I believe I wouldn’t have him.

I shouldn't. I should see him as a suspect. If not that, I should see him as an accomplice of a serious crime. I should get a goldfish.

That's what I should do.

But the last thread of my rational thought has snapped. I have nothing to lose, really. 

And the appeal is too strong. I can't forget the way he looked at me. I can't stop craving him.

My decision was made before I could stop it.

~  
Everyone acted as though they couldn't see us. Eyes down, hands busy. Who could blame them? Would we take them into the next room and interrogate them? How much do we know?

Peter stood relaxed at the receptionists’ desk. Talking, smiling at Barbie’s red headed bastard child.

Even from here, her voice is as melodic as nails on a chalkboard. She sees us and her face pinches.

Well, sweetheart. It's not like I wanted to see you either. Logan greets him roughly.

“Mr. Parker, you’re here. Good.”

He looks between the two of us. His eyes linger on me, briefly . There is nothing more satisfying than seeing primal terror in his face. Subtle, but there.

His eyes stay on Logan. Oh no. That won't do. A part of me wants to grab a fistful of his hair and force him to look in the right direction.

“We should get started then.” He reels back like he’s been slapped. I want him to speak, for his voice to waver. I want to hear my effect on him.

Instead, he turns and leads us to his office. MJ’s pretty little mouth turns downward. Oh, sorry. Did we ruin dinner plans? How sad.

The musty hall reveals no exits. Only a musty elevator. Riding down, I notice two things: 1) Peter is ambidextrous and 2) his ass is delicious. I could feel Logan’s eyes on me. Preventing me from staring as much as I wanted.

The secure landing outside the elevator is just as musty as the first hall. Digital panels and card readers are everywhere. I thought our building was secure. This is an alarming nightmare. We both know this guy knows more than anyone else. IT always does.

Entrance to the bright office is a shock to the system. It looks like it's been lived in.

There are clothes folded in the corner of the room, towels crusted with what looks like blood. Apple cores rot in a waste basket. A backpack sits in the center of the room, a dent in the middle from it's use as a pillow.

Logan shoots me a look and I raise my eyebrow in agreement. Our gazes fixate on the shaking creature in the room. Peter’s eyes widen and he offers a sheepish grin.

“Mr. Parker,” Logan says, “You must be very dedicated to your job.”

“I like being thorough,” He replies, as though that would explain away the evidence of being unlawfully held. A victim to repeated torture and continuing to live in denial. Why?

But I hadn't forgotten Stark’s screams from yesterday. Neither had Logan. We know how easy it would be to keep him locked down here. One elevator, one entrance. I notice the security cameras in the corner of the room. 

My partner looks around, like there wasn't glaring evidence all around us.

“How long did you stay here?”

Peter’s entire body freezes. Put on the spot. We both can see his eyes move from us, to the brief case.

“Answer the question, Mr. Parker.” Logan presses. I notice his look. He is digging for truth behind my suspicion. Digging to break him. 

“I, um…” He gapes like a fish. Whatever makeshift answers Stark's been feeding him, he didn't think of this one. He swallows thickly, “19 hours? At max…”

“You're aware this is highly illegal on your boss’ end?”

“Working overtime?” He tries to laugh, but it sounds more like he’s choking.

Logan’s eyes narrow. He’s thinking further now. I know what he’s thinking, too. If we could get Parker on our side, against Stark, we could get evidence to put him away. 

But what would work? Fear or reward?

My partner chooses fear.

“Peter, do you mind staying with Agent Wilson while I go...check on something?”

He truly believes I don't trust him. He believes I’ll rough him up a bit. I don't know, with no barrier between us, if it's smart to be left alone with him. He doesn’t wait for Peter’s reply before he’s out the door.

He backs away from me, busies his hands with tidying up the room. He isn’t looking at me. The floor, the wall, the computers. Never directly at me.

“Peter, are you afraid of me?” I ask, as if I were talking about the weather.  
His body stills, back tenses. His hands release the towels he was trying to quickly dispose of. Never once did he let his back be turned to me. A pity. His ass is a lovely sight. 

Peter shakes his head as he answers, "Why would you... I'm not.."

He braves a glance to the stalking eyes he knew were on him.

In a small failed attempt to beg for help, his eyes flicker to the door, as if hoping to be saved by the other agent. His gaze returns to me when realization strikes. Help isn't coming. 

"I'm not afraid of you," the lie is blatant. A hint of authoritative defiance before it trails into a crumbling slip of resignation.

It’s almost cute. Look at him, putting on a brave face. "I've been trained to tell when someone is lying. But, God, do you make it easy." 

I laugh, "You should be afraid of me. Much more afraid than you are of Stark."

I step into Peter's space easily. "Stark can fire you. But if you don't cooperate, I can ruin your life."

A cord tethering me to rational thought snaps again at Peter's cowering. I can smell fear coming off him in waves. I find myself backing the smaller man into a corner, "What you're doing by covering for your boss is obstruction of justice."

I raise a up clenched fist. His eyes widen.

/Boom!/ The broad side of my fist collides with the wall beside Peter's ear. The wall itself shakes, "And we both know you wouldn't last a day in prison."

I look straight into Peter's hazel eyes, daring him to look away. God, was there anything better than this? This leverage? Such raw power against something so tiny and defenseless.

Peter, crouched and cornered, trembles with the force of the blow. Still, he holds my gaze. His eyes shine with unshed tears, but oh does he try to look put together. 

He refuses to cry. Won’t cry. Not in front of the blood thirsty creature before him.

I can’t explain how much I long to see it. Peter closes his eyes and swallows hard. The tears fall against his will. I get overexcited. A lion who tears into his prey too quickly and breaks its neck just before the fun begins.

I inhale sharply and slam Peter into the wall. His gaze is locked onto the floor again. Now that we’re alone, I can make him look at me. I force his chin upward, "Look at me when I talk to you. Do you understand the trouble you could get in if you don't tell the truth?"

I can’t help but watch as tears fall down his cheeks. My fingers curl around his chin. A stab of pity cuts into me. How could I be so cruel to this poor thing? He’s fragile, he needs to be treated as such. Soften your approach. I whisper, "Do you?"

Peter cringes and tries to shrink away from me, until the soft touch startles his tear soaked eyes to mine. Wearily, he looks up at me. His lips part as though he means to speak, but he shuts it just as quickly. Every muscle in his small body shakes with fear and anxiety. Confusion is written all over his face, but he nods at me.

My lips twist into a smile, slow and predatory, "Good."

Any semblance of softness or safety is gone. Now that he has a grasp of the consequences, I can get down to the meat of things. I grab the smaller man's upper arms to the point of bruising and pull him close. His body is flush against mine. I can feel every one of his muscles tense.

I can’t help it. I have to assert dominance in some way. I lean into the crook of his neck. I smell the cheap body wash on his skin, smell the sting of nervous sweat. I curb the craving of moving my hands from his arms to his hips. There would be a time and place for that.

I whisper in his ear, "Now, you're going to be a good little boy and you're going to tell me all you know about Stark, alright?"

Peter turns away from the hot breath on his ear, but he doesn’t try to fight my grip on his upper body, "I don't know anything that would be helpful. I just keep Director Stark's systems running and secure."

His eyes shoot to the briefcase. He’s been doing that an awful lot. What exactly was in there that was so important?

I follow his gaze to the briefcase, "What's in there?" I look back into Peter's petrified face, "Are you gonna tell me? Or am I going to have to find out myself?"

His emotions shift from fear to panic. Peter struggles in an attempt to escape and grab at the case before I could open it. His struggle to get free manages some leeway.

“You can't do-" he cuts himself off before anymore can escape. 

"I can't what?" I grab the briefcase before he can, releasing him finally, "I can't go through this?" I ask in a mock affection. "Oh Peter, I have to. It's my job. You understand."

I place it on the desk and wave Peter over to join me. I open the case, whistling while watching Peter crumble. Carefully, I take out the folders one by one.

"One last chance to tell me what this is before I find out." Peter remains silent, staring at the desk top.

"Alright then." I coo. I could tell, with a quick glance at the first page, that this was some hefty evidence against Stark.

"Wow, baby boy, this is incriminating." I look at Peter, waiting for a reaction.

All he can do is watch as I sift through the contents of his briefcase. The look of confusion and horror remain on his face, like he doesn’t know the full contents of the case. 

He swallows hard. "I don't know what this is. I.."

He stares at the papers as if they were accusing him of murder. I start to believe, that for all he knows, they very well might. 

"Stark," he mutters under his breath.The briefcase has several flash drives along with photos. One of the files in my hands has his name on it. 

Instinctively, Peter starts backing away from his predator and the written shit storm in my grasp. 

A sharp scent of desperation heavily floods the room. Peter panics. His eyes shift from to the security camera in the corner of the white walled room. If Stark’s watching, surely he would have stormed down here. Maybe they were shut off.

Knowing Stark’s reputation, he was probably off snorting coke off his latest boy toy’s abs. I look over at Peter, feeling pity once again blunt my cravings for him. An idea blossoms in my brain. It’s terrible, it’s illegal, it’s wrong…

“If you don’t want this case to get into the wrong hands, maybe we can help each other.”


	5. Sick Like Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you sick like me?
> 
> Alright lovelies! Here's a new chapter for you! After this story took a nice end of the year break with it's muggle smut free family, it's decided to come back bright eyed and bushy tailed with a STEVE ROGERS POV. Why? I dunno, why do SpideyPool writers do anything?  
> I'm gonna stop before I ramble.
> 
> Thank you all soooooo much for the love, kudos, comments, and hounding for new chapters. My precious Nun and I gotcha. :)
> 
> Enjoy!  
> -Death_Herself

Everyone fears being called to Tony Stark’s office, it’s just a mutual agreement we all share.

But that feeble, blackened part of me relishes the opportunity to go into the lion’s den. I’m disgusting. He knows, I know. Tony and I can at least agree on that.

I like the pain he inflicts on me in the moment, but after it feels like all my organs have been ripped out.

Shame is a dull bitter aftertaste. Pleasure never lasts as long. You have to keep chasing the high. Withdrawal lasts longer. Soon, it’s not enough. Late night hook ups in seedy motels turn into sucking him off under the table during meetings.

The addiction propels one to indulge in more risk, to put yourself in danger to get what you want.

There are bruises on my hips, an indention of his teeth on my lower lip. He’s inside of me, all over me.

  
He growls in my ear, “Do you like that you filthy cum slut?”

And I’m writhing and moaning like a cheap whore.

It's pathetic and sick and hopelessly fucked. But I love it.

  
I haven’t told anyone my darkest secret, but I fear they already know. That poor Mr. Parker knows my secret. At least I’m almost certain he does.

I’m not very good at lying nor am I able to fight off these dark cravings within myself. It digs deeper than just embarrassment.

If this were to be made public, it would reveal more secrets and lies that wouldn’t just affect me.

His fingers tangle in my hair, sending a delightful jolt of pain through my scalp. He comes inside me. Instantly regret rears it’s ugly head, but I can’t do anything about it.

I remain leaned over the desk as I feel his warm body leave me. I know better than to ask for him to stay. Even if I asked, would I want him to?

“I have a lunch meeting,” He points to the monitor on his desk, “I want you to keep an eye on Parker.”

“Yessir.”

“Call me if he says anything stupid to the feds, Steve. I mean it. It’s not just my ass on the line.”

I wince as he open hand smacks my bare bottom. Emphasizing on my involvement, my lies, the secrets.

  
In the black monitor screen I watch Mr. Stark straighten his clothes.

I know he won’t look at me the way I want. I’ve accepted it. This is far from adoration. What we have is vulgar and vile, the very things I tell everyone else to avoid.

“Yessir.”

“I’m off.” He again puts his hand on me, but it’s softer, briefer.

I’m lifted from the desk by my shirt and forced to look into his dark dangerous eyes. “Watch him, closely.”

A shove from him has me stumbling back to the desk for support. I don’t even bother with my pants right away as he slips out of his giant top level office.

  
A glance around the sleek office and I can feel the bile rise in my throat, Tony is the richest man I know. He’s also the sleaziest, but I can’t stop this terrifying cycle of desire between us.

I know too much, and he knows more.

  
Even though it’s painful, I sit in his large wing back chair after adjusting my clothing. I can still feel him on me and inside me. Guilt and shame are monsters battling every emotion within my body.

The afterglow dwindles to nothingness. Any sort of joy I’d have from getting freshly fucked is stunted. The battle is never ending and it’s brutal.

_I’m so sleazy, I’m no better than him. I deserve this. And I just laid there and took it. Let him walk all over me…_

  
No, it’s time to concentrate. Time for work. I shake my head, stopping any lingering emotion from creeping in.

The mouse shifts beneath my instruction, reviving the blackened screen back to life.

The top right corner is the camera view I need. Even though the room is empty, I render it full sized.

  
Swallowing hard, my eyes catch on the bloody towels on the floor in the basement office. Peter Parker is a good guy, he’s innocent and pure. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this treatment.

_I am an enabler. Weak, cripplingly weak._

  
The time on the other screen reads 8:58 and Peter still hasn’t shown up for work.

He wouldn’t avoid work even with the agents coming.

He wasn’t an idiot.

Fifteen minutes drag by. The access pad beeps through the camera’s audio. Perking up immediately, I see the agents enter first.

Shame- fear- embarrassment- Peter Parker

The smaller man, rooted to the doorway, is doing everything he could to not appear scared. It's not working.

He’s even being cheeky with the agents. I see him try to keep the mask glued to his face.

 

The men exchange looks and their tactic changes instantly. I listen intently to the hairy one growl out that he’s going to leave Peter alone with the other agent.

He leaves and immediately the room’s atmosphere shifts to something more tense.

 

I wonder if it's the lighting at first, maybe even the camera. But I can see the room grow darker when they are left alone. Something about Agent Wilson is off. It’s not clear what though.

The crackle in the audio is minute, maybe it’s just his voice.

“Peter, are you afraid of me?”  
  
"Why would you... I'm not.."  
  
"I'm not afraid of you,"

  
The lie is blatant. I see it, Agent Wilson sees it. But, I can also see Agent Wilson. Something in his eyes flash at the lie.  
  
I swallow thickly. Yes, I've seen that look. It’s achingly familiar.  
  
  
"I've been trained to tell when someone is lying. But, God, do you make it easy."

The agent shifts his body and the stance he takes is eerily predatorial.

The echo of his haunting laugh has the hair on my neck standing on end upon hearing it.  
  
  
"You should be afraid of me. Much more afraid than you are of Stark."

Every step he takes towards Peter has my heart pounding.

  
"What you're doing by covering for your boss is obstruction of justice."

I nod furiously, guilt boiling over in my state of fear. I would be much more frightened than Peter appears to be.

  
Agent Wilson raises his hand. Peter and I both stare in shock at the assertion of dominance. The loud boom causes both of us to shudder, furthering our internalized fear.

Peter closes his eyes when he can no longer fight the tears and that’s when the “off” thing about Agent Wilson rips out of him.

His eyes are filled to the brim with excitement, his body draws into Peter, his hands immediately grabbing at the man he views as prey.  
Agent Wilson moves Peter’s face and his words are dripping with the final conviction of his personality.

 

"Look at me when I talk to you. Do you understand the trouble you could get in if you don't tell the truth?"

 

I nearly fall out of the chair trying to stand. My breath painfully pushes out of my constricted chest. The man pinning Peter is now so transparent that I can’t watch anymore.

I hurriedly shut everything down and run through the door quicker than I should have.

Ms Potts glares at my rigid body darting past her. Living up to the notion of her hatred towards me and how often she sees me.

I don’t have time to care about her view of me right now.

I shuffle into the elevator which wasn’t quick enough. Pressing myself against the very back, I lean my aching head back and let the comparisons wash over me.

 

Agent Wilson carries that same sick look as the man I couldn’t love. It’s a sickness I wish I hadn’t fallen victim to. One I don’t want Peter to fall victim to.

  
Lust. Power. Control. Dominance.

  
It’s a world unlike the reality everyone else lives in. It can be thrilling until it’s not.

I’ve been living in hell for the past year. Even more so lately.

Between the private vacations, being left tied up in a hotel room for days at a time, and being used as foreplay for his real date of the night, I’ve lost all control over myself.

  
I’m Tony’s. Plain and simple.

  
Everyone thinks I have special privileges as Tony Stark’s top and favorite salesman. It’s true to a degree. But it also keeps me locked under the Director.

In reality, Tony Stark is the company. He created it, owns it, runs it, and is deeply involved in everything. Which is why he carries most of the titles of the executives.

Selfish, sure. But that’s just who he is.

 

Turning my head, I glance at my shaky reflection in the chrome walls of the elevator. I wronged Peter two days ago and I plan to make up for it.

I won’t let him be used like I am and I know what I can do.

* * *

  
“Hey, Steve!” The model red-head calls from her post in the lobby. A professional smile curled my lips while I surveyed the lobby for the hairy agent.

Negative. Plan a go.

  
“Hello, Miss Watson.”

“Call me MJ, Steve.” She places a hand on her hip and smiles.

“Of course. I’m sorry, MJ.” A quick glance over my shoulder confirms we are still clear.

She leans forward and whispers, “Agents got ya itchy too?”

“You… know Peter, right?”

“Y-Yes. Why?” Her color went from white to void. She looked at me, almost begging, “Steve? What's going on?”

“I don’t trust the agents handling the case or handling Peter.” A jolt rolls through me at her yelp.

  
She covers her blood colored lips with her hand, as though such distrust was too much for her delicate sensibilities.  
“I’m so sorry, that was worded in a way-”

“I meant for it to sound that way, so it would reflect the truth.” My gaze remains focused on her big, fearful jade eyes.

“Did you see something? Steve-” She quickly reaches across the desk and desperately grasps my hands, “-you saw something, didn’t you? Is it that tall one? He’s so scary!”

A brief nod to her seems to ease her grip on me, like she’s lost in thought. I use the opportunity to walk around her desk.

  
A smile curls my lips again. It’s just as forced as every other smile I’ve given in this place. My voice is low to avoid being overheard.  
“We have things we can do, MJ.”

  
She continues staring off for a bit, before a smile breaks out on her lips. “Johnny.”

“Exactly. Johnny is protective of Peter.”

“They were friends before working here. He would flip out if he knew someone was mistreating Peter.”

  
“Is he in today?” A quick glance around again reveals the other agent wandering out of the stairwell. He’s intent on scoping out every last inch of the place.

A part of me wants to hold my gaze on him, dare him to try me. But I know better. Despite my anger for Peter, I have to remain unbroken.

  
My gaze slowly returns to Mary Jane, who was spouting off about Johnny.  
“Steve? Did you hear what I said?”

Hesitantly, I shake my head. “Sorry.”

 

Her gaze lands on the same very concerning suited up elephant in the room. She swallows thickly and returns her gaze to me.

“I said, Johnny is in. He should be in the conference hall.” She points a finely manicured finger down the hall beside the elevator.

 

“Thanks!” Rushing the word out is easy, but keeping a steady pace in the lobby was not. Gaze straight ahead, posture straight, and body unbreakable.

The agent is too heavily involved in his mission of surveying things to even notice me.

 

At the very end of the hallway is the conference room Johnny should be in. The marketing department usually meets once a week like this.

Even though Tony is supposed to attend, he purposefully doesn't.

Especially if he had a date with a hot young actor or philanthropist. A sharp inhale forces me to not shake.

As much as I hate Mr. Stark, I also truly do love him. I shouldn’t but I do. The thought of his being with anyone other than me makes my stomach churn. I’m not stupid though. I know what he’s doing.

The cycle of addiction, of dominance, of abuse, of power. It has to end.

  
No more hesitating.

The door slams open and I step in, “Johnny, we need to talk.”

* * *

 

“Peter wouldn’t hack into the system and corrupt everything,” The blond quirks an eyebrow and leans on his elbow. “He’s smart. He wouldn't risk something like that on his shoulders, even if Tony put him up to it.”

“I know.”

  
Johnny Storm, a brilliant, show-offy kid looks at me like I was too old to even know what the internet is.  
“So, why tell me all this?”

“Because the Federal Bureau of Investigation is-”

“Whoaaaaa. FBI is involved? Why did I not know this until now?” He jumps up like a shot, ready to run out. To defend the honor of his disrespected love.

It wasn't as though the kid made any attempts to hide it. It would be almost sweet if it weren't so sad.

“The director was going to wait to tell everyone until after they investigate Peter.”

  
“They think he did it! They... Are they manhandling him? Is that why you came to me?!”

His fist balls up. He sizes me up because I'm blocking his only exit. He wants to get to Peter, to scoop him up and carry him off to safety.

I only wish it were that easy.

  
Slowly, I raise my hands to the kid freaking out before me, “We have to help Peter. To do that, we have to be level headed. He needs us, calm and prepared.”

He sighs and his shoulders slump. All the fight goes out of his face. “Two allies out of this whole damn building?” He whispers.

  
“Three,” I pipe up, “Counting Mary Jane.”

  
“I don't,” he mumbles under his breath.  
His face is blank, his brows furrowed. He looks at me for a long while, as if he we were looking for something. A wicked grin plasters itself to his face.

“I’ve got an idea.”

 

 _Maybe this was a mistake_.

* * *

* * *

 

The office air makes my skin crawl. It's like being near the lions at the zoo. An exciting twinge of fear of what they could do to you.

Wilson could do what he wanted with me. Even if Tony checked the tapes, there's no guarantee he’d do anything to stop him.

  
We’re alone. Truly alone. And he’s just offered me a deal. Is there any wonder I’m scared.

  
My eyes have to look huge to the man before me. Honestly, I can't believe his change of appearance and behavior.  
Relief floods my body.

His eyes no longer reveal a hunger I’m too frightened to place.

No matter how frightened I am, this man will not get the satisfaction of me admitting it. No matter how tightly he grips me, I will not break.

  
“Help each other? What are you proposing?”

  
He shrugs and pushes off of me, as though touching me the way he had wasn't entirely inappropriate.

“It's a simple deal really. I like you Peter, really I do.” He turns on his heels and walks back to the table, “See this?”

I nod, my heart in my throat.

“I could make it disappear. We can pretend it never happened,” He starts throwing the folders and files back into the case haphazardly, “And wouldn't you like to see big, bad Stark taken down a peg or even better, chucked off the ladder?”

I can't deny it'd be pretty satisfying. Watching Tony fall from the pedestal he’d put himself up on would be a dream come true.

But would I sell myself for it?

“What are you asking for in return?”

  
“You.”

“What?” I cough.

“All of you. The food you eat. The clothes you wear. When you sleep or shower. If you touch yourself or not,” He slams the lid to the case shut, “I want control over you.”

“You...you can't be serious.”

“Peter, have you seen yourself? Really seen yourself? You look like a wounded puppy. Like someone’s perpetually kicked you. You need some kind of structure. I can give it to you.”

“I…”

“I’ll give you some time to think, baby boy.” He ruffles my hair, “As for the suitcase? Don't worry. It's in safe hands.”

  
And then he was gone. Leaving me to the shock of his proposal.

  
_He wants me? Control of me? I-I don’t even know what that means. You can’t control someone like that. It makes me sound like….a pet. Would I be okay with that?_

Looking around the office, I see the things he wants me to see. I see the way I allow myself to be treated as my eyes fall on the bloody towels.

I see how weak I am to authority when I look at the wall he had me pinned to. I see how screwed I am when I look at the desk the briefcase had been on.

 

_Wilson looks at me like a predator that’s cornered his prey. He will eat me alive if I let him have control of me. But Director Stark will obliterate me if I let him control me_

Turning my head towards the door, there is a new sensation washing over me. The possibility of striking Stark before he can get away with all he’s done was starting to sound really good.

_  
Being eaten alive by a force of nature like Wilson just to destroy Tony? Maybe giving in wouldn’t be such a bad thing._

 


	6. Terms and Conditions I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im alive! 
> 
> Can we all just take a minute to appreciate Death and how talented she is? Again, without her, this story wouldn't exist.
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> -Nun

She’s angry and he can’t blame her. But he did pay. Her hair's a mess, there are tear stains on her cheeks. She’s not his property. She’d be grateful if she were.

But she’s not Peter.

She pulls her ruined dress down, suddenly embarrassed about her nearly naked lower half. Wade waits by the door, money in hand. She grabs it with a snarl.

“You are...you’re really fucked up. You need help.”

He shrugs, “You still took the money.”

Her mouth curls into a tiny ‘o.’ Her eyes narrow. She growls out, “Fucking psycho.” Before stomping away out of sight.

This is how Wade’s spent his nights without Shiklah. It’s freeing, almost. Using people, then throwing them away when he gets tired.

She’s right. He is fucked up. But the cage has been opened. He needs something to curb his appetite. Using his hand just isn’t enough anymore. Not when he’s so tantalizingly close to the real thing.  
-  
“I wiped the tape.”

“Fuck.” Wade hisses. Logan rolls his eyes.

“Don't be so careless next time. Do you want a lawsuit?”

“I wasn't thinking. Getting information was top priority. I didn't even know they had cameras rolling. With the shit Stark does, you'd think they were just for show.” 

“When do you ever think?” Logan sighed, shifting from one major headache to an even worse migraine, as they walked into Stark Industries, “Something feels wrong about this place.”

“That just now hit you?”

“Don't be a smart ass.” His partner grunted, “It feels almost cut throat. Like everyone is pitted against the other.”

“That's business.”

“Maybe. But it feels like everyone is hiding something.” He turns to Wade, “Keep an eye out for everything.”

“Will do boss, will do.”  
-

It’s a perfect blonde haired, blue eyed creature who sees Wade and Logan first. Not his perfect submissive, but a nice spectacle either way.

He waits patiently at Malibu Barbie’s desk, smiles politely but a latent hostility burns behind his eyes.

Hostility towards Wade. Immediately, the FBI agent is in defensive mode. What are pretty boy's motives?

“Mr. Howlett, Mr. Wilson,” He reaches out his hand, “Steven Rogers. A pleasure to meet you.”

Logan shakes his hand amicably. Wade refuses to return the gesture. He gets lightly shoved in retaliation.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Rogers.” he says, though he’s sure his voice gives away his distaste.

“I was sent to greet you. Boss’ orders. It’s my job. You understand.” There's something about the way he says it, the way his mouth curls around the words, grates on his nerves. Rubbing his nose in a secret he’s keeping.

Logan quirks a brow, “ Is Stark afraid? That why he sent a lackey?”

But Good Ol’ Stevey is undeterred, “I’m not at liberty to say. I’m just following orders.” He motions for them to follow him as he turns, “We’re going upstairs to marketing. Mr. Parker will be joining us shortly, as well as Mr. Storm, one of our marketing employees. But time to time, he works with Peter.”

Oh, so Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater isn’t completely alone?

A sort of dread bubbles in Wade's gut. Mr. Storm sounds likes one of the leads in some Harlequin Paperback. Looks like it too. The elevator door reveals a tall blonde, well built, but lean. He looks at the agents and his face hardens.

The conference hall is rife with tension, but Steve is quick to tell them all to get over it in a subtle way. “You suspect Stark?”

“He is one of our suspects, yes.” Logan replies.

“Is this a coup? Oh! I love coups!” Wade grins, showing off his teeth. Steve fidgets, swallows thickly. Nervousness. Yes, he definitely belongs to someone.

“In a way,” His voice stays level, “He does a lot of bad things, Mr. Wilson.” Johnny nods. Just then, the elevator doors open once again.

“I got what you wanted, Steve. Logs of his Skype calls, websites, email-” His mouth drops when he sees Wade. Steve takes the paperwork before Peter can drop it all.

“It’s alright, Peter. You’ve done well.”

Johnny interrupts, “We’d like to give you some...things, to consider.”

“Oh?” Wade smiles and quirks a brow, “And to what do we owe this generosity?”

“The safety and integrity of Stark employees being in danger,” The leaner man takes the papers from Steve’s arms. 

Johnny slams down a folder on the table in front of them.

“Taking money from employees.”

Slam. A court summary.

“Sexually assaulting employees.”

Slam. Photos of a bruised face. Blood soaked towels on the bright white basement floor flash in Wade's head. If Stark had something to do with that…

“Physical assault.”

“We can’t use any of this,” Logan counters, “If it’s been procured illegally.”

Steve’s brow furrows. He looks at Wade, “He’s hurting people. Innocent people. Stealing from them. Interacting with terrorist groups. And you can’t use this?”

“You hacked into his computer,” Wade looks from him to Peter, “Illegal. We can’t use it.”

“Take me to Stark’s office,” Logan says suddenly. Wade stares at him. Just what was he doing? “We need to have a little chat.”

And suddenly, Wade is alone with Peter again.

The tension returns like a heavy fog. Oh but this tension is different. Much different.

The monster lurks in the shadows, waiting for its prey.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Peter?” It’s a command, not a question.

Wade sees his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. God, to claim that throat, bruise the skin, mark it up all pretty and purple.

“I still...I don’t have an answer.”

“Oh. So you’ve considered it.”

He sighs, refuses to look directly at Wade. His hands are busy. A familiar picture of distraction. “How do I know you aren’t setting me up?”

“And why would I do that? Do you have any faith in me?” A patronizing coo.

“Maybe if you weren’t such an asshole…” Oh that smart ass tone. That would have to stop. And what better way to teach, than with a hands on lesson?

Wade pins him down against the conference table. His arm bends easily like a twig behind his back. Wade's free hand curls into chocolate brown hair, pressing Peter’s face into the desk.

Wade presses his hips up against him.

Lets the poor feeble thing feel trapped against his legs and the table. His ass pressed against Wade’s semi hard erection and he can’t help but rut a little against him. It’s his fault for looking so edible all the fucking time…

He feels the spasm of the bones in his wrist under his palm as Peter struggles. He whimpers, fucking whimpers, when he feels how hard his superior is. How easy it would be to crush him.

He’s so weak, it isn’t fair.

But he’s driven Wade this far. Like a good boy, he doesn’t move when he leans closer.

“An asshole,” he whispers, “Would take advantage of us being all alone.”

Wade laughs against his skin, “They’d bend you over this desk, just like this, and fuck you raw. Do you want me to be an asshole, Peter?”

“No.”

“Mmh,” He grinds against him a little harder and buries his face into the crook of Peter’s neck.

He smells like sweat, like cheap cologne, like failing deodorant.

Like something that belongs to Wade. 

The poor techie’s voice is a whisper, “Please, stop…”

“What are you gonna do if I don’t?” The older man’s hand moves between his legs. He palms at the front of his dress pants, “Well shit, baby boy…”

“It’s not,” He chokes, “I’m not…”

“You’re hard,” Wade growls breathlessly, “God, you like being treated like a slut, don’t you?”

He doesn’t say anything when he slides off of him. “Stand up.”

He does what he’s told. He looks at the FBI agent like he just ran over his dog. There’s blood leaking from a shallow cut on his temple.

Wade wipes some off, warm and sticky on his thumb. He licks it, tasting Peter from the inside. A sting of copper, salt, and endorphins. He takes an envelope out of his pocket.

Nothing extraordinary, Just Peter’s name written in black sharpie on the back. He hands it to him. Peter’s eyes are comically wide as he briefly peaks inside. Recognizing the numbering on the paper inside as an address.

“Mr. Parker,” Wade scolds lightly, “You should really be more careful. You are fragile, after all.”

He doesn’t look up. The table seems oddly fascinating, “You’ll have your answer by tonight..”

“Always such a doll,” He blows a kiss as he walks out the door, “See ya tonight, Baby Boy.”  
\-   
And like a good baby boy, he shows up just like he said he would. His hair is tousled, and his shirt is a bit crumpled. It looks like he just came from work.

“May I come in?” Peter asks. Like a lamb asking so sweetly to be let into a wolf's cave.

“Gotta love a pretty little thing with pretty little manners.” Wade let's him in, shuts the door behind him.

His home looks far too domestic to be the scene of some lust fueled experiment. Once upon a time, his wife sat on that cream colored sofa, painted her nails red and complained about lack of passion.

Shoes on in the house, don't scoff up the hardwood. It's imported, Wade. We paid good money for this room to be painted…

He stares at Peter’s frame, the slim figure he cut in his living room with the suit jacket much too big for him.

Brown eyes land on a photograph. Shiklah, pretty and pure in white, pushes cake into his face.

“You're married?”

“I was once,” Wade bit out, “Have you thought about our deal?”

He nods.

The last bolt on the cage snaps off. Peter is in Wade's territory now. And has come willingly. “I asked you a question, I expect an answer.”

And Peter is not unaffected by that. His shoulders tense, a not so subtle shudder goes through him. He isn't meeting his superior's eyes.

“Look at me, Peter.”

Just like the day they met, he obeys. He’s so deliciously scared. His eyes big and watery, his mouth twitching, trying to stay neutral.

“What's your answer?”

With what could be taken as nervousness was actual the smaller of the pair being stubborn. 

Peter had thought long and hard about the decision he was making on his way here. 

Every code he’d written today pushed his anxiety, every dirty profile he remote accessed pushed his curiosity, and every time he looked at the desk where that horrid briefcase had been pushed his obvious answer to the forefront.

Control was definitely a factor missing in his life, had been for over a decade. He simply existed and did what he thought other’s wanted.

He wants to know if someone else holding control over him would make him feel any different. Even if it means having them control literally everything.

This is a sex thing, Peter knows it. As he looks around this very proper home, he’s beginning to question it.

He’s here to sign a contract, he had read the introduction, and barely skimmed the waiver of liability. He’s selling his soul to one devil to get rid of another. 

He knows how to do as he's told. He’s done it since he came to Stark Industries. Hell, even before that.

He's not willing to risk going against this man. 

With a neutral tone and mask to match, he responded finally. 

"I accept your deal.”  
-

Peter didn't expect their next move would be eating dinner. He stares at his plate of pasta, feeling whiskey colored eyes burn holes in his flesh.

“Pick up your fork and eat.”

Slowly and trembling all the while, Peter did as he was told. He doesn't dare take another bite unless prompted. The flogger in Wade's lap turns in his hand over and over.

A constant, looming threat that makes roses bloom on his skin. Each bite is a reward. It was just pasta, a meal he’d had since childhood.

But somehow, being observed, being told when to feed made him grateful for it. Each bite is new and exciting, the flavor an intense dance on his tongue.

For Wade, just watching the pathetic display is a power trip. Adrenaline pumps through him. He told Peter when to eat, when he could drink.

It makes the younger man’s heart flutter in his throat. He knows what this was doing to Wade, if the bulge in his pants is any indication.

This is...this is insanity. But so is the looming possibility of life in prison or maybe even death.

All of this feels dreamlike, as though any second would find him awake, his legs wrapped around a pillow attempting fruitlessly to rut against it.

His phone begins to ring. Immediately, Wade raises an eyebrow. He sticks out his hand, “Give it to me.”

Peter hesitates for maybe half a second.

Thwack!

The flogger hits the table top. Peter did as told with shaky fingers.

He shuts his phone off. “Dinner is over.”

"Get up."

And Peter does as told, because what other choice does he have? Like a dog, he doesn't want to be hit when he disobeyed.

Wade smiles, "You're doing well. It's almost pathetic how easy this is, Peter." He encircles him, eye tracing him through his clothes. "Take your clothes off."

There it is. The sex thing he was anxiously waiting for. Fear and curiosity forged a tight ball in his stomach all day, and the weight of it at this very moment could make him sink into the floor.

Letting his trembling hands rise to his waistband as commanded. 

This is slowly starting to feel like shoved into his office and forced to stay overnight again.

Swallowing thickly, he pulls his shirt from it's tucked position and starts to unbutton from the bottom up. 

When he pulls it away from his skin he averts his eyes and folds it over his arm. Starting on the buckle to his belt. 

It's cold in here and he's not entirely looking forward to being fully undressed in front of this man.

But he does as he's told. He slips out of his shoes, toes to heel style, before cautiously bending down to slip out of his dress pants and boxer briefs.

He still couldn't look at Wade. Especially not while he remained bent over to slip his socks off.

All the man did was stare as he straightened upward again. No, not stare. This was preying. Wade was preying upon Peter like the fidgety deer he was.

Drinking in all that pretty naked skin, Wade grinned. He let his eyes roam over Peter, head to toe. 

He really was small and compact wasn't he? Easy to lift...but that could wait for another time. 

He slid behind him, grabbed his hair and reared his head back.

Forcing Peter to look at him, to be able to drink in that shame. "I hope you get comfortable being naked. You'll be like this for a while." 

His free hand slid around the base of Peter's cock. "Tell me. Have you ever been with a man before?"

Whimpering, God that whimpering again, like the terrified creature he is. While his cheeks flush in a vulgar mix of shock, embarrassment, and arousal. 

He shifts within the overwhelming grasp of his body and licks his lips. "N-no." 

His blush deepens at the magnitude of just how weak and pathetic his response was. Knowing full well that the man he forfeited his control to would greedily enjoy his feeble response.

Slowly, he stroked upward. Good boys deserved a reward, didn't they? And so far, Peter had been a very good boy. 

Only one flaw. He twists his fingers tighter in Peter's hair and snarled. 

"I should add, before we get any further, that you are beneath me now. When you address me, you'll call me sir." His hand stills and he feels Peter stir in his grasp, "No, who?"

His eyes clenched shut, and his fingers balled into fists so tightly that Peter knew he would make himself bleed. 

This was all too much and Wade has done practically nothing. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and uncomfortable with his head pulled back. 

He wanted to protest being called inferior to Wade even in their time away from work. Reminding him of his thoughts when he was offered this deal. 

He's a pet. 

Slave felt more appropriate though. 

"No, sir." Making sure his tone was solid and clear as he spoke because Peter knows this is nowhere near over and he really doesn't want to be punished.

It was all a game to Wade. He had nothing to lose. The ball was in his court.

It made what little pride Peter had left flare bright red. 

He wanted him to break, just like the rest of them. Humiliation. That's what this all boiled down to. All Peter was good for was bolstering the masculinity of others. 

Why did that idea excite him? Shameful that it made his cock throb in Wade's hand. Still, he remained silent. 

And then that hand went faster and faster. His body became one long, seamless ever stimulated nerve. 

Why did another’s hand feel so different from his own? 

He chased the friction, “Please please please…” falling from his lips like a prayer. 

Close. Close. He was so close. Just a little more…. 

Wade had stilled his hand. 

“Beg properly.” 

Those words burned his ears. He was so hard, it almost hurt. He needed release. Needed it so bad he was willing to beg. 

“Please sir, touch me…” Peter whimpered. 

Wade grinned against the sensitive flesh of his ear, hot breath ghosted his cheek. “Your wish is my fucking command.” 

It was pathetically quick. All it took was a few more strokes and a flick of the wrist, Peter was cumming with a silent scream.

His orgasm like a wave crashing over a sandy beach, it slowly receded to reveal emotions he was experiencing far more intensely.

The high was brief, the embarrassment took hold, and left him ashamed.

Every horrible experience he's ever endured was starting to look like hiccups compared to whatever the hell Wade is.

It wasn't like Peter had never fooled around. Because he had been with enough people to know what sex was.

This wasn't that. At all. He couldn't even put a name to what Wade was doing. Control didn't cover it either.

As the thick pale fluid slowly ran down his thigh and stomach he had to force himself to truly breathe.

Wade clicked his tongue like a disapproving parent.

“Looks like baby boy could use a shower.”

He straightened as much as his shame would let him before Wade nudged him into the bedroom. 

Peter noticed immediately that it looked like someone else lived here fairly recently. It wasn't overtly obvious. He just had the ability, as someone who was invisible, to see the picture fuller than most.

There was a smell to the place, more feminine. Perfume and lotions scents tended to linger, especially in bedrooms. But this was relatively fresh.

He didn't want to think about this man with another human being. His wife could be dead in a ditch somewhere for all he knew. It was possible and if he could kill his own wife, why not his pet?

With Wade now standing in the doorway to the bathroom, Peter could actually see him. 

His features cold, his eyes horrifying, and his demeanor intimidating.

Their eyes met after the shower was turned on. 

Peter felt like he might vomit but he /absolutely/ refused to display his fear to Wade. 

Neutral, always neutral.

But that could change, that could be broken. The craving burned through Wade like a hot iron. Watching Peter’s face contort during his orgasm had flooded him with a feeling that was indescribable.

It was very lucky for the both of them that it was the weekend, that this endeavor could be spread out for two more days.

Two more days of straight conditioning.

Wade watched the water droplets trace the contours of Peter’s small, lanky body. Watched his new pet’s face turn away from him.

Oh yes, this weekend was going to be fun.


	7. Terms and Conditions II

Stray water droplets wandered into areas previously forbidden. Down Peter’s chin, between his collarbones, across his stomach, getting lost in sparse pubic hair. Naked, new. Wade watched as his new pet stood, staring wide eyed. Waiting. 

A beautiful body, so mouthwatering in it's softness. Milky white skin begging to be sucked on, to be bruised. Plush lips begging to be opened, to be slid into. Fantasizes he’d wanted for so long were finally at his fingertips. They had 3 days, counting today. 

And he was certain to make them count. 

.Still wet, still timid, Peter looked up at his new ‘master.’ He almost flinched away from those cold eyes on him. His skin broke out into gooseflesh. He’d never stood in front of another man naked in this way before. 

Drip. Drip. 

Stubborn cowlicks made water droplets splay across his skin. Down his hollow cheeks, inching down those feminine hips, full thighs. 

Peter’s body was his now. He could do with it what he wanted. That idea provoked a loud growl out of him. 

"Baby boy, you're gonna do something for me.” 

Peter can already tell that Wade appreciates when he is verbal. As much as the commands and being verbal himself embarrassed him, he decided answering and acting was in his best interest.

As he stepped closer he spoke clearly despite every muscle in his hands and arms twitching. "Yes, sir."

 

“Undo my pants.” 

His fingers work the clasp and zipper of Wade's pants. Big hazel eyes accented by flushed cheeks flicked up to meet the cold stare of the terrifying agent.

Fingers moved to twist into wet hair. Peter learned quickly. Wade liked that. Those that didn’t put on a pretense of strength during sessions, who were stubborn. It got exhausting rather quickly. But Peter got straight to the point, his long lithe fingers running back down his thighs. 

"Good boy."

The idea of shoving his cock down Peter's throat had a certain appeal. But so did taking it slow, drawing out the torture.

Oh decisions decisions.

Peter was inexperienced and was visibly alarmed at his new place. At Wade's cock in his face. It would've been funny if it weren't so pathetic. He brought Peter's head closer, smearing the cock head against his lips.

"Now. Take me in your mouth.

Inhaling sharply and looking up at those calculating eyes was all he knew he had time to do. 

It wasn't enough to be ready mentally, but physically he followed the instructions given to him. 

Peter parted his lips and let his jaw hang as he moved his head forward to take the persistent cock head in his mouth. 

The rug underneath his knees was perhaps one of the most uncomfortable he'd ever had the displeasure of being forced onto. 

But even more uncomfortable was being entirely uncertain of what he was supposed to do, allowed to do, and when. 

He gripped at his bare damp knees as more of Wade's cock slid across his tongue. Keeping his eyes open and locked up on those dark eyes looming over him.

He’d only ever slept with women. He remembered vividly the first time...a girl from his freshman chemistry class. The glazed look in her eyes, the wet heat of her mouth, the loud distracting moans. Peter didn’t know how to make his tongue move the way hers had. Didn’t remember asking her how. 

Peter hollowed out his cheeks and sucked. Wade moaned. Good start. 

The uncertainty in those hazel doe eyes made the pouty coral lips smoothing down his shaft a poster for submission.

Wade couldn't hold back testing his new pet. Dragging this out was still his goal, but why not take a small taste of the perfection he /would/ shape this creature into.

With his grip still tightly wound around the dripping umber locks, he pulled Peter's head towards him to force more of his cock into the smaller man's mouth.

Hitting the back of his throat and pulling a quickly blocked off sound from Peter. 

The flutter of uncertainty, shifting to panic, and melting to his closed off mask tugged a devious smirk onto Wade's lips.

That wouldn't do.

Wade pressed down the head within his grasp. Pushing his head down and back so his throat was perfectly positioned.

Panic again rose to the surface.

/He certainly is a smart boy./

The first push into his throat and those doe eyes clenched shut with tears welling in the corners.

"Open your eyes."

Peter snapped his eyes open at the order. Surprised to find the motions over his tongue weren't as invasive.

But those eyes burning through him were as terrifying as when he stood in the doorway to the bathroom.

He could barely breathe even when his throat wasn't blocked, and no matter how hard he tried Peter couldn't stop the insane mix of arousal and panic pooling in his abdomen.

Each shift past his lips and over his tongue was slow and planned. Wade didn't make any more sounds, his breathing steadied.

Even as he shoved into his throat again, felt Peter's throat constrict from the pressure on his gag reflex, and watched the tears finally fall.

A whimper hummed around Wade's cock as he let his pet breathe. That did in fact earn a sound from the agent. A chuckle. Prickling Peter's skin in horror and intrigue.

He didn't dare close his eyes, Peter wasn't about to test that order. He did however question his own messed up interest in this horrible game.

He was being treated like an object, an object used for laughs and vague pleasure. Yet his own cock throbbed at this mistreatment. Against his hopes and prayers, Wade /did/ take notice in that little detail.

Dark eyes devouring the sight of his strained and neglected cock. 

Peter braced himself mentally, he knew it was going to happen before it did. This thrust into his throat was harder and driven with intent. His throat tried to fight off the intrusion, new tears welled up, oxygen ceased to fill his lungs, and his cock throbbed.

Seeing him needy and enjoying the mistreatment ignited a flame in Wade's face and eyes that Peter caught before the icy features returned.

Whatever Wade had planned next, Peter knew it would be amped up compared to this. All because his body told a truth he would never verbalize.

He pulled Peter off, smiling down at the spectacle. Peter, red-faced and sweaty, spit and precum connecting his lips to his cockhead. 

"You have no idea how gorgeous you look right now..." 

A cold smile pulled at his features. He jerked Peter up. 

“You've never been with a man before. So nothing's been inside you..."

He leads Peter back into the bedroom. The smell of woman's perfume is masked by the sweet steam of the shower. Peter licks his damp upper lip. 

"Hands and knees, baby boy." 

The words threaten to make his heart break out of his ribcage. Peter takes a shaky breath. Hands and knees and a mattress a man and his wife used to sleep in. The pillow cases he's nervously clenching his fingers in have little flowers on them.

Neaty, tidy. The exact opposite of Wade's mind. He encircles the bed. For the first time in a long time, something inside him felt like it was mending itself. 

Unfortunately for Peter, that was his predatory nature. He hums, takes both cheeks in hand and gives them a squeeze. 

Smooth soft skin, perfect amount of bounce. He really couldn't help it if he sunk his teeth into one of them. He bites, tastes warm, wet skin. He pulls back to admire his handiwork. A beautiful red imprint of his teeth on Peter’s bare ass. The smaller man let’s out an undignified squeak. 

Arms spasming minutely as he struggling to hold himself up. This was too much. Precum gathering at the head of an begrudgingly needy cock.

Wade holds him open, looks at small pink pucker. Pretty and virginal. 

“You sure nothing’s been in your cunt before?” 

“Yessir.” Is the shaky reply. 

He presses his thumb against it and feels it clench. Watches Peter tense. He reaches over his toy to the nightstand. He drenches his fingers in lube. 

Oh well. If he wants it to hurt...

Slowly, surely, a finger encircles his rim. He presses gently before teasing the nerves from the outside. Finally, a rough, thick finger slides inside of Peter's channel.

Pleasure shouldn't be confusing, at least not in Peter's mind. But it was, it always had been. Now wasn't any different. He inhaled sharply at yet another intrusion within his body. 

Again, the overwhelming feeling of uncertainty gripped him. Was he supposed to just be still like a good boy? It's what he chose to do. Because the feral look in Wade's eyes was too terrifying for Peter to defy.

One finger, just one, worked slow. Gradually becoming dull and just a presence. 

A throaty exhale with a stifled sound of shock passed over his lips when a second thick finger joined the first. 

It wasn't dull anymore. 

But that didn't stop his cock from reacting and it didn't go unnoticed. 

That low amused chuckle vibrated off Wade and Peter swallowed thickly, closed his eyes and braced himself again.

Amusement. God, this embarrassment is as bad as high school. 

His entire face, neck, and chest flushed on top of the gooseflesh and sweat. /How the hell did Wade manage that?/

As the two just started to grow dull, a third digit joined and with that, a real sound ripped from him. 

Raspy, but quickly muffled by Peter biting down on his lip.

It didn't go unnoticed by Wade. "You open so nicely. And your hole is so greedy..." 

Wade moved his fingers, in and out and in and out, going a little faster each time. Fucking the smaller man open with his fingers. 

Then Peter jerked his hips back, trying to chase the feeling. The hand stilled instantly. A cry ripped itself from Peter's throat. 

This again. Pleasure, could he call this new sensation pleasure?, withheld for breaking an unspoken rule. 

"Did I say you could move?" A low growl in his ear. 

Peter swallowed thickly, "No, Sir." 

"You want to do this on your own? Fine." Fingers slipped out from the wet hole. 

"Show me how bad you want to cum. Finger yourself."

If Peter hesitated, he knew he would be punished. He /almost/ tested the theory, but he was too needy to allow it.

"Yes, sir."

Shakily, he shifted his arms so that his left was more centered while he moved his right behind him. He didn't bother with one finger, he knew it wouldn't do.

Slipping his middle and ring finger inside his soft and slick hole, he knew two wouldn't be enough either. Peter grabbed onto the rule of not moving unless told so as he steadily fingered himself, because this was in no way enough. The pillow pattern was his focus as he angled his fingers to brush along the sensitive spot inside him. 

As much as he wanted to bury his face in the pillow and re-position so he could have easier access, he didn't.

He wasn't told to. He was only told to finger himself. 

The denial and lack of needed pressure just made his cock pulse. 

How did Wade know this was who he was when he didn't even fully grasp this? 

His steady pace shifted into something more determined, almost desperately trying to see out that same 'pleasure' Wade had given him.

That amused sound again, and his skin again reacted. Tinged cheeks and gooseflesh.

 

Wade watched for a little while. Yes, the punishment suited the crime. Watching a virgin struggle to pleasure themselves to the point of frustrated tears was always a pleasant sight. And Peter was a perfect virgin to disgrace. But there was something missing.

Peter had gone against his master for the first time. He needed a punishment that would reinforce just how bad that was. 

The bed shifted beside Peter as he felt Wade get up. 

It took more self control than he knew he had not to both sneak a peek at the man and move so he could finger himself more avidly. 

Wade's hands traced the box he'd recently pulled out of its hidden place. He had been that certain the pathetic man would wind up here. 

He took his time on making a decision. This wasn't something he was going to rush, not when that something was as delicious as the perfect treat on his bed. 

Turning back to the bed finally he was met with the sight of said treat still doing as he was told. Even fighting enjoying himself as he did. 

When Peter felt the bed shift again his eyes flicked open and he swallowed hard. This was about to be taken up a level and he knew it.

"Fingers out." 

And he'd been so close too. Close too finally hitting that seemingly/impossible/ spot inside.

Peter slowly withdrew, letting out a pathetic whine as he did. 

Something cool and blunt pressed into him then, just enough for him to gasp at the intrusion. He couldn't see behind him. Couldn't see what Wade was slowly pushing into him. It was bigger than his fingers that was for sure. 

His hips jerked minutely. He had to stop himself from trying to take whatever this was whole. It burned so good, and it pressed against his sweet spot so /intensely./ 

Wade kissed his lower back in mock affection, "Look at you, taking it so well." 

"T...thank you, Sir." The words fell out without needing to be forced. If Peter was good, maybe...just maybe Wade would let him cum. 

Begging, defying. That wouldn't work. 

The toy was flared at the bottom. Peter held his breath. What if it didn't fit? What if Wade pulled it all out and forced him to take it all back in again? 

Over and over till he was loose enough for it to fit....

His cock throbbed at the idea. Saliva pooled in his mouth. 

God. Wade was right. He was a slut. What was it that Wade saw in him that he hadn't in himself? He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. 

No. Wade wasn't right. 

This was part of a business deal. Peter was providing a service in exchange for Wade's protection. 

His hole clamped down on the thickest end of the toy. Peter panted, ass up, his face sweaty and buried in the smothering scent of peonies and roses.

So close. So close. So close. 

Wade ran his hand up his back. "15 minutes. Don't touch yourself. I’ll be back."

/Fifteen minutes?/ Peter couldn't stop himself from counting. 

There was absolutely no way he could remain on his hands and knees, presented like a good little whore for fourteen minutes and thirty seconds. 

His insides squeezed and ached around the foreign object within him. It pressed against the spot he needed it to, but without further stimulation the next thirteen minutes and forty-five seconds would be absolute hell. 

Isn't that what Wade wanted? The look in his eyes screamed hunter, predator, and dominance. He even smelled of a predator. 

An underlying musk of whisky and tree sap in all this floral feminine scents. 

Peter's fingers curled in the sheets at the passing of minute eleven. 

He's suffered through worse for much longer. 

But it occurred to him, actually the thought run him over and splattered his guts on the freeway of his life, Wade wasn't even using the full extent of his predatory skills. 

The next nine minutes of his life should be counted as bliss. 

Even if they wanted to consider themselves erotic foreplay in this game of survival. 

The genius side of him could concoct many scenarios of what he should do. The sicker side of him, the one Wade was trying to tear open wanted to shift his body to /feel/ anything. 

Anything to make this game even. 

Which wasn't going to happen. 

Thirty seconds left and he still didn't hear Wade. Maybe this was another level of this fucked up mess. Proving he had zero control. 

Wade didn't have to guarantee anything to him. As much as Peter knew that, counting the remaining five seconds felt like a lifetime of an ache that couldn't be relieved. 

Unless the man who owned him allowed it.

5 seconds late.

Peter moans shamelessly when he sees Wade's face. There's something in either of his hands. One thing that buzzes and something small enough to be curled into his fist. 

Peter recognizes the toy from porn. One of those Japanese sex toys. Wand shaped vibrator thingy that make girls scream when it touches their clit. 

Why would Wade bring it to him? What was he planning on doing? 

"Lay down, baby boy." 

A nickname. Maybe. Maybe that was a good sign. He laid down, breathing hard as the toy inside of him shifted.

Wade opened his palm, inside was a gold ring. Too big to fit around someone's finger. He swallowed thickly. But that sick part of him shivered in anticipation of the cool metal on his cock. 

It was tight, constricting. His poor dick throbbing and aching. No relief in sight. 

Then it brushed against him, that magical vibrating wand. And Peter screamed. 

"Please sir. Please let me cum, sir. Please." 

He meant it. Meant every cry. He felt like he might explode, like he might die. The words fell from his mouth with no preamble, no facade. He was desperate. 

But Wade just purred and looked down at him with some look of adoration. He moved it toward Peter's cockhead. The smaller man let out a series of punched out moans. 

"I'll do anything sir. Anything. Just let me cum!"

Blurry pain and pleasure wiped his mind of rational thought. 

Anything. 

He would do literally anything. 

Predatory eyes scanned his entire body and as much as it should terrify him the thing actually terrifying him was the unspoken threat of not being allowed release at all. 

Pleading didn't work. That didn't stop his cries and the few pleads slipping out. 

His blunt fingernails dug into his palms. Any other pain was welcomed at this point. 

Anything. 

The feeling of his orgasm being blocked intensified. Another scream ripped out of him and frantic huffing followed. 

Just as he was actually considering going against Wade and relieving himself, he realized what /anything/ would entail. 

The wand was gone and he almost thanked god but was again being touched by Wade. Pulled by Wade. 

From his new position on the bed Wade stood over him but from his view the man was upside down. 

His head was forced down to hang over the side of the bed. Face to face with Wade's bulge. 

Peter knew exactly where this was going and he was willing to accept anything to be allowed release. 

He watched as a steady and sure hand unbuttoned the pants and pulled his cock out of both his underwear and pants. 

Peter couldn't even hear his cries and sobs anymore. He was immune. He did as told. 

The taste of flesh as Wade's cock passed his lips was a distraction. 

Until a new pain became a distraction. 

Wade wrapped his hand around Peter's throat to hold him down against the edge of the bed as he sunk himself further into the still sobbing mouth. 

And the wand returned to his straining cock. 

Every thrust into his throat broke up the sobs into small hums and chokes. 

Peter was certain he was going to die. His brain would burst and he'd bleed out. He'd have some form of release at least.

Wade wanted to hear him choke, hear him gag. Watch that pretty little face contort in agony. And those tears, God. He loved watching them swim in Peter’s brown eyes. Anticipating them rolling down his cheeks...it was almost too much. 

His hips stilled, "If I get to cum so do you. Sound like a fair trade?"

Peter hummed around the cock in his mouth. His body was screaming. He felt like he was on fire. But Wade hadn't moved. Except to fruitlessly tease the edge of release. Peter moved best he could to take Wade further, then slowly slide back.

Over and over, faster and faster. His throat burned and his tongue was plastered to the bottom of his mouth. But from the sounds Wade was making, he was somewhat close. 

God, that meant he could cum right? If Wade came down his throat, he would get to cum right? That was the deal..

Nothing changed as he dove his head and neck forward again. Spit trailed across his lips and chin. 

God. No. Please. Don't be a lie. 

Tears blurred his vision as he dove forward and by the time he pulled back they had slid into his eyebrows and across the sides of his hung head. 

Every motion seemed like an eternity. Staying the same. No end in sight. 

Seconds. Minutes. He hadn't even counted. 

Thick fingers curled into his carotid tighter and that's when he knew. 

Wade forced him to stop moving and constricted his air way with his hand. Working his cock across Peter's tongue in a steady pace. 

Everything throbbed, inside and out. Especially the cock moving into his throat. 

He wanted to cum. He wanted Wade to cum. He wanted more. 

Several more thrusts before Wade slammed his hips forward and let out a heavy breath. All Peter could do was hum. 

The edges of the world started to blacken, he felt a thickness on the back of his mouth. The taste was almost sweet. Imitating the smell of tree sap he so heavily related to Wade. 

Air moving back into his lungs tasted sweeter than the cum he swallowed once Wade released his hand.  
He moved his hand and slide the cock ring off of his smaller lover. His fingers curled around the base of his cock, stroking slowly, lazily.

"What a good slut. You know. I don't think I believe you. You were way to prepared to a have a cock shoved down your throat. Almost like you're on your knees a lot, opening your pretty little mouth."

A flick of the wrist has Peter gasping and aching.  
"I think your body was made for submission, Baby Boy. Tiny wrists made to be bound and skin meant to be bruised."

Peter felt his cheeks heat up and his stomach tighten. A familiar pull, making him want to thrust back up into Wade's grip.

"God," Wade leans in to whisper, "I can't wait to be inside you." 

And that puts Peter over the edge. White hot light blinds him, his nerves turn to electrical currents, his skin is fire.

Never had an orgasm ripped him apart like this one has. His body feels like it's in a void, his cock gives a pathetic twitch.

This kind of high was unbearable. 

He felt used. And didn't want to commit to the confusing feelings that came with that. He couldn't admit that the things Wade said were confusing him further. 

He's pulled up by strong arms, the toy inside of him shifting and rubbing at sensitive nerves. 

Body trembling at the over stimulation. Warm yet rough hands moved him to lay on his stomach. 

Possibilities blurred through his mind but he couldn't focus on any of them. His eyes were glued to the dark comforter right in his line of sight. The air hit his wet face. Cooling the trails of tears and spit. Shivers and gooseflesh blended into the trembling.

He realized Wade wasn't near him. Peter's concern bloomed at the realization. A hand ran down his back some time later, pulling him from his empty thoughts.  
Wade's gentle touch was never an indication for his following actions to be gentle. His muscles tensed under Wade's hand.

Wade watched his new pet squirm under his hand. The possibilities for the pliant body underneath his touch were seemingly endless.

"Should I keep this inside you?" He encircles the base of the toy. "Keep you full and stretched out? I should, shouldn't I? Make you used to being filled up..."

He slowly pulls on it, pushes it back in. A tiny gasp, a broken moan. 

"You'll be like this all weekend. With something inside your greedy hole."

He smiles and stands, grabbing the thin wrist, "Come on Baby boy, sit up."

"I want to show you something..."

Pulling himself into a kneeling position feels like a mistake according to his body. A tunneling storm of pain and content. 

“Yessir,” isn't forced. Especially with Wade's shift in attitude.

Hesitance towards his emotions and Wade's plan was obvious in the way he held himself. But he didn't stop to evaluate either. 

He hasn't been doing that as much as he usually does while around Wade. There's no way that's a good thing. 

Big hazel eyes met dark chocolate ones. He almost wanted to look away so he didn't have to see himself in Wade's pupils. 

But he didn't see himself. He saw what was in Wade's hands. 

This contract was full of so many clauses that he was wondering just how long it would be valid. 

Their eyes met again. 

A reaction was all Wade wanted from the kneeling pet on his bed. It was just like all the others. A mask of indifference with a glint of hesitance in those doe eyes. 

He moved in so that his knees hit the side of the mattress. Every muscle twitched and tensed in Peter's body. 

The collar in Wade's hands only proved his theory of being a pet.

A pretty little 'o' collar. Black leather with a silver o ring in the middle. Perfect for sliding one's fingers in and yanking a disobedient pet.

Made for a tether. 

Wade smiled at the wide eyed creature on his bed. It had been Shiklah's. 

A wedding gift he never bothered to take out of the packaging. Now it had a purpose. 

"This makes you mine, baby boy. I expect this on or at least near you every second of everyday. Do you understand?" 

Peter nodded and swallowed thickly. He gasped when the cool leather touched his skin. An erotic sensation that sent chills through him. 

It fit perfectly. 

"Pretty as a picture, Parker." Wade reached out and stroked his cheek. For a moment adoration filled those eyes. Then lust made them burn. Peter flushed. 

'Click.' 

Securely fastened. Something meant to keep a dog from running off. 

A chain leash. Peter said nothing, but his eyes showed every hesitation, every doubt. 

Wade leaned in to kiss him. 

"Let's get you to bed Baby Boy."

As Wade tugged on the collar by shifting the leash to the side, Peter internalized the uncertainty and followed the guidance. 

Moving across the foot of the bed on all fours. Then up the opposite side of the bed. Doing his best to ignore the unpleasant feeling of the toy shifting with his movements. 

His eyes followed Wade's hands as they wrapped the chain the head board post and padlocked it. 

"Lay down." 

"Yes, sir" 

Obeying was easy, his head resting on the pillow slowly while his body settled into a curled position. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the suffocating floral scent of this side of the room. 

It was safe to assume he was replacing Wade's wife. No wife would put up with this rough treatment. And even if she did, it would explain her absence. Death or otherwise. 

Fingertips strokes up his back before they and the heat of their body disappeared. 

This can't be the worst of what the agent will offer and use. He supposed being allowed to sleep in the same bed was a treat. Even if it was only for ease of access. 

Peter was finding it difficult to accept this erotic torture as his fate and his feelings towards it as his own. 

The way his body reacted to Wade's ministrations no matter how rough was alarming. Lacking freedom has always been something he despised. Right?

Being used was something he despised... right?

Agreeing didn't seem to assure him anymore. Feeling full and owned...

By a man he didn't know...

By a man out to satisfy only himself...

Felt... 

He tried to make a feeling stick to the thoughts. Tried desperately to make a feeling stick and make sense. 

But he couldn't.  
**

Hands behind his back. Ankles bound together. Toes pointed. Thighs quivering. His cheek rolled onto soft cream carpeting. 

Wade had even been nice enough to allow the more relaxed position. Bound Peter himself to save the quivering man the punishment of falling out of position.

It scared Peter. How easy this all was. His heart thumped a mile a minute. He was getting used to the sensation. Being bound. Being used. Being mistreated. 

He got even sicker when he realized the tingling in his gut was anticipation. Wade encircled him. 

Thwack!

The flogger cut into his hip, leaving an angry red mark. Peter nipped into his lip. His skin broke out into goosebumps as he bit back a moan. He wasn't being punished. Wade just liked to hit him. 

Wade /really/ liked to hit him. Peter quickly found out over the course of the day. 

Today, Wade wasn't holding himself back. Yesterday had been a friendly introduction to this world. 

Twack!

This one landed on his stomach. Wade smiled and soothed over it with the palm of his hand. 

"Poor baby," He cooed in mockery of concern, "Does it hurt when I do that?" 

Peter looked up into those whiskey colored eyes. Saw how bright they burned. How possessive. Like a wolf guarding his meal. 

"Yessir." 

Wade smirked, "Good." 

Thwack! 

He didn't even try to hide the groan as his thigh twitched from the impact. His cock stood up in interest. Wade smiled. A cold, sharp thing that made his eyes burn brighter. 

Thwack! 

Thwack! 

Thwack! 

The rational side of Peter's brain was starting to shut down. The side that said pain was bad. There weren't words to describe it. Whatever this feeling was, it made his toes curl. Made his blood run hot. Made him /crave/ the marks the flogger would make. 

Thwack! 

Thwack! 

Thwack! 

Analyze. His brain was screaming. Analyze. But he was panting, writhing against his restraints. What was there for genius Peter Parker to grab onto? Submission was cracking him, making him implode from the inside out. 

Thwack! 

Pale skin turning a glorious red. 

Thwack! 

The flogger cut through the air, landed on exposed skin, set every little nerve alight with sensations he'd never felt, never allowed himself to feel, before. 

Thwack! 

"Does it feel good to be treated like a slut, Petey?" 

Thwack! 

"Yessir!" A desperate cry between broken moans. 

Then it stopped. Peter was panting. His skin was shimmering from a light sheen of sweat. 

Wade tilted his head to look at Peter. Watched his face go from red to milky white. 

"Have you been a good boy?" 

"Yessir." 

Business transaction. Those two words kept going through his head. Business transaction. 

That's what he was clinging to at least. The precum dribbling down his cock told a different story. 

His cunt, (that's what Wade had started to call it, his /cunt./ Feminize. Degrade.), ached. 

He swore that his opening, (his opening he was considering it his /opening./ Made to be filled. But which one is really much better?), couldn't take much more. 

His chest tightened when he realized he wanted Wade to prove him wrong. Wanted Wade's thick, rough fingers splitting him open. Wanted...

He shut his eyes once he realized he was turned onto his stomach. Gasped when he felt the subtle roughness of a tongue against him. 

"G-goddamn..." 

He choked on air. The wet warmth encircling the muscle before pushing in. God, in the span of a day had he truly gotten that loose? So pliable?

Rough, gun callous hands grabbed his backside and kneaded it to the point of bruising. 

A wordless way of encouragement. Peter moaned loudly when Wade's tongue started fucking him open. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, a whine. 

Belong here. Belong here. Belong here. Those words seemed locked forever in his brain. 

Once Wade deemed him wet enough, he moved off. Peter could hear him spit on his cock, hear him starting to touch himself. 

He quivered against the ties binding him. 

"Beg." 

And this was the part that made his brain scream. The feeling of complete and utter helplessness was too much. That sick dark creature inside him purred.  
Fulfilling Wade’s desires was slowly becoming his only goal. It made him sick. It made precum drip down his shaft. 

“Please fuck me.” 

“I didn’t quite hear you.” 

“Please, fuck me...sir.” 

With the rough slide of his cock into his raw hole, Wade proved him wrong. His cunt /could/ take more, so much more. Everything Wade wanted it to take, anything Wade wanted it to take. 

He wanted to beg. For what, he didn’t know. Pain? More pain? 

The drool and tears on his face cooled his heated cheeks, but the rest of him burned. Inside and out. His entire body was burning and bruising.Yes, pain. That’s what he wanted to beg for. But he didn’t have to. It was almost like Wade could read his mind.

A particularly hard thrust included Wade’s fingers curling under the collar and pulling his head up from the ground and arching the small back beneath him. 

He hummed as he pounded into the tightening cunt. All it took was a little strangulation to tighten it back up? His hum turned into a low chuckle.Watching every vein throb in the slender neck caught in the leather within his hands before guiding the neck back down to the ground. He couldn’t ruin that pretty face with broken capillaries. 

Loud gasps for air mingled with the sounds of wet cunt squelching. Choppy vocals and silence sounded better. He pulled on the collar again. Much better.

Wade used to the leverage to fuck into the constricting cunt harder, hard enough to pull his release closer. He just needed his pet to stay conscious and not ruin his face. Just a little more, a little more. 

Wet splattering noises of Peter’s release on the floor beneath him is what sent him over, fucking into the abused cunt until he was completely spent. Finally shifting the near unconscious pet so he could gasp and cough on the hardwood. 

Callously pulling out and rolling Peter over to check his reddened features. Such a good boy. No broken capillaries. He smoothed his fingers over the darkened circles under Peter’s eyes before standing up.

Peter shut his eyes, took sweet sweet breaths of uncontrolled air. He was sure by the end of it all, Wade would control even that part of him too. He’d stopped fighting, stopped resisting. Almost found his lack of control peaceful. 

He lay still without Wade having to tell him to, waited like a good pet. Rolled back over, opened his mouth, let Wade slide the gag in and fasten it. He could taste plastic and Wade’s skin. He felt out of his body, like he was watching all of this happen to him rather than truly experiencing it. 

Maybe that was for the best. 

Wade’s hand ran down his back, between his legs, his thumb pressed against his twitching hole. 

“You’ve been such a good boy, Peter.”

“Umf.” He moved his hips back instantly at the words. Needed to hear them again. If Wade thought he was a good boy, did that mean he got out of the restraints? That Wade would fuck him slow this time? 

God. A day of this and he was already thinking like some sort of leather bound, gimp suited sicko. Perhaps the bound wrists and ankles weren’t helping. 

But he wasn’t like this. Not really. It was just to please Wade. Just so he won’t tell the FBI what was in that suitcase. He swallowed thickly. His legs shook. 

Wade hummed at the view, biting his lower lip. He looked every bit like a wounded animal. He had behaved so well, didn’t he deserve a little reward? He untied the ropes around his pet’s wrists and ankles. 

“Follow me.” 

Peter does so with no question. He crawls, because Wade told him to. Whenever they were alone, he was supposed to crawl. He wasn’t a human, he was below that. A dog. And dogs don’t walk on two legs. 

Wade leads him to the bathroom, slips the gag out of his mouth. “We’re giving you a bath. Not like last time. Much better.” 

Immediately, Peter’s body seizes up. The last time they were alone like this, Wade just stared at him, made him feel like an object. Made him feel sick. And he wasn’t sure about Wade’s definition of ‘better.’ “Yes sir.”  
His master helps him off the floor into the warm running water. He’s strangely soft in washing his pet. His hands in Peter’s hair don’t pull or snag, his fingers moving down his torso don’t leave bruises, his nails don’t dig little crescent moons into his pale skin.  
When he lays Peter down to sleep, his thoughts take over. 

If Wade could be so soft, why did he choose to be so toxic?

**  
His suit is neatly folded at the end of the bed, his shoes at the foot. Peter breathes through his nose. Was this weekend even real? Or had it been some sort of horrendous nightmare? There was a disconnect between them now. He could feel a cold wall that Wade had put up. 

Don’t talk to your master. You aren’t his pet anymore. You’re Peter. Not his dog. Just put on your suit, just go to work. Act normal. 

He looked at his reflection in the mirror and barely recognized himself. It may have been the bruises on his neck and hips, the scratches on both shoulders. It may have been the sore lips that he’d bitten when Wade had told him to be quiet. 

But it was his eyes that scared him the most.  
Still the same hazel, but now...now they looked…

Broken. 

He sucked in air, the suffocating smell of peonies. The feel of fabric on his naked skin feels strange after two whole days of nothing but being bare. He tightens up his tie, adjusts his jacket. And he leaves the house before Wade even knows he’s missing. 

He’d saved his job, his life, and Stark’s company. But at what cost?


	8. Authors' Note

Hi guys. It’s DeathNun. 

We have some news regarding this story. After much deliberation, we’ve decided to discontinue this fic. 

We intend to rewrite this, but don’t have an exact date when this will happen. We will be keeping this fic up, however. We feel it’s unfair to take it down since so many people enjoyed it. 

We hope you’ll stick around for our other projects, and any future developments regarding this theme. 

This is what’s best for this story and we appreciate your understanding and love for our first collaboration.

xoxo


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